The Journey of Jace Lightwood
by Graced
Summary: This story is just the Mortal Instruments trilogy told from Jace's perspective. Kind of like Midnight Sun for the Mortal Instruments. Chp.9 is up - REVIEW!
1. The Red Haired Mystery

**Authors Note: I love the Mortal Instruments series. After it ended I wanted more, especially of Jace Wayland, who is a wonderfully deep and multi-faceted character. This fanfic will center on Jace as he meets Clary and will follow him through the rest of the series as he matures and grows from Jace Wayland-Morgenstern-Herondale to Jace Lightwood. I think I will probably continue it a little past where the series ends because I want some Jace-Clary action :) **

Jace Wayland stood, shrouded by a glamour, slumped against a wall inside the Pandemonium Club next to his best friend and adoptive brother, Alec. He was bored. They were hunting a demon that attacked a pretty mundane girl a few days ago. She thought the demon was just a rapist, but Jace, Alec, and Alec's sister (therefore Jace's adoptive sister) knew better.

The rapist was a shape-shifter, an Eidolon demon, who they had recently discovered frequented the club. The fact that they were hunting a shape-shifter in a crowded club full of mundies had momentarily stumped them, at least until Jace remembered that his adoptive sister happened to be very pretty and very popular with any male (mundie and Downworlder alike) who was (mis)fortunate enough to cross her path. _That girl is a force of nature with the opposite sex. Quite like myself_, thought Jace with a conceited smile.

Jace assumed the demon would strike again if properly tempted and he formulated a plan to do just that. When he presented his idea to Isabelle, she was quite pleased; she wouldn't pass up tempting a boy to his doom (especially as in this case the boy was a demon and the doom was quite literal instead of metaphorical). Besides, she hadn't yet had the opportunity to do any proper tempting that week.

However, when Jace had been devising his plan he hadn't considered he might actually have to _wait_. Jace had thought Isabelle would catch the demon's eye immediately, while he and Alec waited briefly in a corner for their cue to move.

Jace thumped his head against the wall in thinly-veiled impatience. Alec shot him a dark look, and then quickly resumed scanning the crowd.

In an effort to ease his boredom, Jace too began a study of the crowd's occupants who were oblivious to his presence. He didn't bother looking for Isabelle; she was uncharacteristically easy to spot in the dark, foggy club in her long and flowing old-fashioned dress, which served to hide the Marks that all Shadowhunters wore from the demon. Instead, his eyes skimmed over the teeming mass of dancing teenagers, mundie and the occasional Downworlder, who were working themselves into a frenzy to the pulse of DJ Bat's latest headache-inducing creation. His gaze didn't pause on the outlandishly attired boys and only just lingered on the exposed flesh of the many gyrating girls, more out of bland interest than actual curiosity. At the moment, he couldn't lift his glamour and saunter into the crowd to find a pretty girl to charm, but he planned to later, maybe to add another all too willing girl to his long line of one-night stands with a quick tumble in one of Pandemonium's back rooms. He meticulously noted for later reference that the Pandemonium could indeed present many opportunities for entertainment if he ever had a particularly slow week.

Jace loved to be entertained. To him, entertainment was pretty much limited to killing demons, enforcing the Law in the Shadow world, and the occasional, brief dalliance with a girl, which was fine with him. Jace was _alway_s on the look-out for entertainment. What else was there to life?

Right now, Jace was ready for a little entertainment of the demon-killing variety (but then again when was he _not_ in the mood to kill something?); the promise of an impending fight wound his nerves and muscles into tight bunches. It was one of the best feelings in the world and he loved it. Fighting was exciting, got his adrenaline pumping, quite like how he felt when he desired a girl.

A flash of bright color brought his eyes to the entrance of the club. His eyes fastened on a halo of fiery, copper-colored curls. His eyes moved further; the hair belonged to tiny girl, small enough to be a pixie, though her clothing and demeanor suggested otherwise; she wore a lime green tank-top and baggy jeans and she moved with a distinct lack of grace that a pixie would never be caught exhibiting. No, she couldn't be anything but mundane, as she was one of the most normal looking people Jace had ever seen, excepting the tall boy next to her who leaned down and whispered in her ear. The boy was more boring looking than average for a mundie, something Jace hadn't thought was possible._ Just goes to show that you really do learn something new every day_. Jace watched as they entered the dance floor, trying to get a better look at the girl, not knowing why she interested him.

Jace's study of the mundie girl and her less than memorable companion was suddenly cut short when Alec jabbed him in the shoulder. He shook his head, both chiding himself for letting a mundie girl distract him and for somehow being annoyed at Alec for interrupting his perusal of the girl. It was just a girl. "Look," Alec said, "I think she found him."

Jace turned just in time to see Isabelle break away from the horde of male admirers who had been clamoring for her attention. He watched as she began to walk across the room and saw the exact moment when an electric blue-haired boy in a red jacket noticed Isabelle. The boy tensed, like a dog scenting its prey, his eyes locking onto Isabelle. _Gotcha_, thought Jace. _Finally_.

He and Alec began moving as one through the crowd to the back of the club, to the storage room they had picked out earlier. On their way they glimpsed Isabelle as she lured the Downworlder into the unlocked room with a show of thigh high boots and a wicked, seductive smile. Jace shook his head and grinned ruefully. _Isabelle enjoys this as much as I do_, Jace mused.

The shape-shifter turned around and looked scanned the crowd for observers, causing Jace and Alec to dart into the mob of people for cover. Seeing no observers, the boy turned around and entered the room after Isabelle while Jace and Alec moved to stand guard beside the door.

"We wait for her signal right?" Alec asked, shooting him a quick sidelong glance.

"Sure, we wait for her signal, Alec," Jace cracked dryly. "If by signal you mean a thump and the demon cursing Isabelle." _We'll be lucky if she leaves us anything_, Jace ruminated to himself.

The words were barely out of his mouth when he heard, sure enough, a commotion inside the room. Quickly, before Isabelle could have all the fun, Jace withdrew a blade from the weapons belt that circled his hips and silently opened the door. When he slid into the room, he was not surprised to see the demon already on the dusty floor amid coils of electrical wiring, with Isabelle's whip twined around his ankles. Jace grabbed the shifter and dragged him off the ground to throw him into a concrete support pillar. Jace held him as Alec bound its hands with wire. Jace asked, his voice cold, "Are there any more with you?"

"Any other what?" spat the demon insolently. _Righhht_. Like he didn't know what Jace was talking about.

"Come on now." Jace urged, as he raised his hands, almost menacingly, allowing the long sleeves of his black shirt to slip down toward his elbows, gifting the boy with but a glimpse of the many Marks that covered his body. "You know what I am."

After a moment's silence, Jace was rewarded with a hissed, "_Shadowhunter_."

Jace couldn't stop the smile from spreading slowly across his face. _Finally, we are getting somewhere_. He shoved his hands in his pockets, and said, "Got You."

He watched the emotions flit across the demons face. Pain, hate, and fear were the ones that registered the clearest, the ones Jace looked for. _Well, at least I'm good at what I do_, thought Jace with no little amount of satisfaction.

Jace began to pace in front of the boy, affecting an unhurried air, as if he had all the time in the world to get his answers, something he knew the boy wouldn't like, as he, as Jace just observed, was in no little amount of discomfort. In this situation, as with so many others, Jace knew he had the power. "So, you still haven't told me if there are any of your kind with you."

"I don't know what you're talking about," the demon spat again. The boy's electric blue hair wouldn't let Jace take him seriously. _Or maybe I'm just a little bit biased_.

Alec chose this point to finally address the boy with, "He means other demons."

_Ah, bravo Alec. I think the filthy bit of slime got that part._

Alec, however, was not finished. "You do know what a demon is, don't you?" _Hm, I get it now_, thought Jace. _Alec thinks he is being funny. I really have got to talk to him about his people skills._

Jace watched as the demon turned his face from them, as if trying to get away. Always the one to lend a helping hand, he decided their new friend needed a little prompting.

"Demons," he began, writing the word in the air as if on a chalkboard, he a teacher and the demon boy an exceptionally dim pupil. "Religiously defined as hell's denizens, the servants of Satan, but understood here, for the purpose of the Clave, to be any malevolent spirit whose origin is outside our own home dimension—" Only to be cut off by Isabelle with a warning of, "That's enough Jace." _Huh, she was the one who had teased the creature. Was I not allowed to taunt it just a little?_

"Isabelle's right," interjected Alec. "Nobody here needs a lesson in semantics-or demonology." _Traitor_, thought Jace good-naturedly, as he lifted his head and smiled. _I guess it's time to stop playing with him and get it over with_, Jace sighed inwardly. He switched tactics, using his deadly charm to try tempting the demon into giving him answers. "Isabelle and Alec think I talk too much." he said to the demon, as if discussing a matter close to his heart. "Do _you_ think I talk too much?"

Jace watched the Downworlder boy closely; he looked as if he was trying to work up the nerve to say something, reaching for something that would stay Jace's hand and save his life.

"I could give you information," the Demon said. _Huh, how did I know_? Jace asked himself sarcastically, but the boy's next words wiped the smug thoughts right from his mind. "I know where Valentine is." _Stupid Downworlder_. _We would get the insane one, _mused Jace, even though he remembered that this wasn't the first time a cornered demon had resorted to spouting out lies about a 17-year-dead Shadowhunter who had led the Uprising against the Clave.

Jace couldn't resist a quick look at Alec, who just shrugged. _Load of help you are with the crazy demon. _You_ are supposed to be the sensitive one_.

Jace turned back to the demon-boy. "Valentine's in the ground. The things just toying with us."

"Kill it Jace. It's not going to tell us anything." Was all Isabelle had to say on the matter. She was bored and wanted to get back to dancing in the club. Maybe the slightly muffled thumping that's was DJ Bat's version of music was calling to her. _Party-pooper_.

_Oh, well. I'm not going to get that brawl after all. _Looks like he would get to distract himself with a girl in the room beyond sooner than he thought_. I wonder if the tiny redhead is still here_, thought Jace as he raised his seraph blade. Before he could plunge it into the demon, however, the boy gasped, "Valentine is back!" He wildly fought the bonds Alec had put on his wrists. "All the Infernal Worlds know about it-I know it- I can tell you where he is-"

Jace finally felt his patience slip, along with his carefully controlled mask that was usually always in place. The Downworlder was pissing him off. "By the Angel, every time we capture one of you bastards, you claim you know where Valentine is. Well, we know where he is too. He's in hell. And you-" Jace said as he repositioned his seraph blade in his grasp, readying for the kill, "You can _join him there_.

A voice behind him cried out, "Stop! You can't do this."

_What_? He whirled around with such force that the seraph blade he held fell from his hand and clanged to the floor. His eyes focused quickly on a girl in the shadows; it was the girl that had distracted him earlier, the one he had just thought about. _How could she see us? Was I wrong? Is she more than just a mundane_?

It was Alec who spoke first. "What's this?" he asked, nervously glancing between Jace and Isabelle and the small copper-haired girl.

Jace couldn't resist and felt compelled to state the blaringly obvious to his less than observant partner. "It's a girl. Surely, you've seen girls before, Alec. Your sister Isabelle is one." Jace couldn't help but study the girl again, a little more thoroughly this time. He stepped closer to her, as if pulled by an unseen force. He saw again her neon green camisole, baggy jeans and ballet flats, but he was close enough now to notice the slimness of her body, which he didn't get a good look at before; her curves, as small and delicate as the rest of her, captivated him_. _He could also see her face now, unlike previously from across the crowded club. He was startled by how exquisite she was; by far the prettiest mundie girl he had ever seen, though he usually wasn't discriminate when it came to girls. He took in sharp cheek bones in a pale, elegant face that were accented by a pretty cupids-bow mouth and a small, delicate nose dusted with freckles. His gaze fixed on her eyes; they were big, long-lashed, and the color, a beautiful emerald green, reminded him of rolling hills in Idris, of home. He shook himself, disconcerted.

Those were staring widely up (God, was she tiny) at them, him. _When she wasn't supposed to be able to see them!_

"A mundie girl," finished Jace, "And she can see us."

"Of course I can see you. I'm not blind you know."Jace saw a small flicker of annoyance behind the girl's eyes, and admired her for it. She had to be afraid right now. He pictured the scene as she would see it, with outsider's eyes; three very tall, very armed people in a dark back room grouped around a boy, a boy they were going to kill.

When did he care about what outsiders thought? Jace was amused at his reaction. "Oh, but you are," he responded to the pretty little mundie girl as he folded himself to retrieve his blade from where it had fallen on the dusty floor.

Jace had a sudden vision of the demon somehow escaping him, Alec, and Isabelle; it could easily overpower such a tiny, weak mundane girl. Jace remembered the demon liked pretty girls; remembered why they were hunting it. Jace knew these things happened often; it was how warlocks were created. It didn't usually inspire any emotion but disgust; now for some reason he couldn't bear thinking of the demon sullying the girl's flawless skin with its touch.

He inwardly scolded himself. He wasn't the type to go panting over _any_ girl, especially a mundie, no matter how pretty they were. They were entertainment, distractions, he reminded himself. He resolved to be annoyed with the girl.

"You'd better get out of here, if you know what's good for you."

The girl, unaware of what motivated Jace to send her away, said, "I'm not going anywhere. If I do, you'll kill him," She said, indicating the demon with her eyes.

"That's true," said Jace, ever honest, as he twirled his blade between his fingers, purposely trying to scare her, to get her to realize that this was her cue to leave, though at the same time not wanting her to. _What is wrong with me_? "What do you car if I kill him or not?"

He enjoyed the way her face screwed up incredulously. She looked stunned, astonished that he would ask such a question; she spluttered, tripping on her own words as she tried to say, "Be-because you can't just go around killing people." The tone to her words implied that there was an unspoken _DUH_ lurking somewhere.

Jace gallantly conceded to this very valid point. "You're right," he said, for some reason wondering what kind of reaction his words would get from the girl. He watched her carefully. Indeed, he seemed incapable of watching anything else and said, "You can't just go around killing _people_." He pointed to the boy without looking at him. "That's not a person, little girl. It may look like a person and talk like a person and maybe even bleed like a person. But it's a monster."

Isabelle had to ruin the fun. She was quite dependable that way. "_Jace_, that's enough." A warning colored her tone.

"You're crazy. I've called the police, you know. They'll be here any minute."

Jace wasn't worried. It's not like they, unlike this oddity of a girl, could see him, Alec, or Isabelle.

"She's lying." Alec said, though Jace could hear the uncertainty in his voice. "Jace, do you-"

Alec's question was suddenly cut off by the demon, who voiced a very piteous howl as he ripped the wires from around his wrists. _Damn thing must have been working at them while I was busy taunting the mundie_. The boy threw himself at Jace._ It looks like I am going to get my brawl after all. Hooray for me._

Jace let the boy come. As the boy drew level with him, Jace grabbed him, threw him over his hip and onto the floor, following him down and rolling on top of him. The boy's hands whipped wildly at Jace's face, as if trying to rip it off. Jace heard the girl gasp and he flicked his eyes in her direction. What happened to her? The Eidolon noticed Jace's distraction and took advantage of it. Abruptly, Jace was whirled around and the demon was somehow sitting on his chest. Jace thought a stream of ugly curses and blasphemies. At the rate they were going, that girl would be the death of him. Alec and Isabelle, sensing he might need a little help, started forward just as the demon tried to take a swipe at his face. Jace, his reflexes never failing him, raised him arm to divert the blue-haired boys' claws from raking his face. It stung, but he'd live. _Disaster averted_, he thought wryly, as blood streamed down his arm. _Just think of all the girls who would be heart-broken to see a face such as mine marred_. For some reason, the mundie girl's face sprang inexplicably to mind. The image disappeared as quickly as it had come when he saw the boy moving to strike again. He saw Isabelle's whip fall flash out of the corner of his eye; it struck the demon across the back and saved Jace another bloody, demon inflicted gash.

Jace, never one to waste an opportunity, took the moment to roll the demon over, putting it back on the ground as he quickly sank his seraph blade deep into the boy's chest; blood spurted all over him, soaking his shirt. Jace stood, feeling his face give away some of his weariness and pain. It had been a long day. Jace looked back down at his blade still hilt deep in the demon, who was thrashing on the floor. Wordlessly, he leaned over and pulled it back out. Black ichor stained the pure, deadly beauty of the knife. He was surprised when the demon fixed its acid green eyes fixed on him. It said, "_So be it. The Forsaken will take you all_."

If ordinary humans were Marked with many powerful runes, the pain of the Mark drove them insane, creating a Forsaken. If the Mark didn't kill them outright. The Forsaken became something that was no longer human; fearless, unable to think for themselves. Only the person that Marked them could control them. Forsaken were evil and doomed to die quickly after serving the one that created them.

Jace let his face screw up in to a feral snarl. A threat of Forsaken was never taken lightly. He watched as the demon's body got smaller and smaller as it faded into nothingness, going back to the world that it came from. _Good Riddance_.

For a few moments, Jace didn't move, didn't acknowledge Alec when he seized his arm and tore back the sleeve. Alec had done this many times before. It wouldn't be the last. Jace didn't flinch when the familiar, comforting burn of an _iratze_ was carved into his arm.

He heard a gasp behind him. The mundane girl. He had forgotten about her when the demon had mentioned the Forsaken. He turned to see Isabelle's whip twined about the girl's small wrist.

"Stupid little mundie. You could have gotten Jace killed," accused Isabelle. Jace heartily agreed.

"He's crazy," the girl gasped as she tried to free herself from the whip, something Jace knew from experience was all but impossible without Isabelle's consent. "You're all crazy. What do you think you are, vigilante killers? The police-"

Ah, so she hadn't been watching when the demon disappeared from their world. Well, it was time to expand her education. "The police aren't usually interested unless you can produce a body." Jace said, almost pleasantly, as strode across the cable strewn floor. He heard Alec follow all after him, still trying to look at his arm. Jace watched her as she looked to where the boy had lain just seconds before and saw her stunned, disbelieving expression. "They return to their home dimensions when they die. In case you were wondering." _Of course she was_.

"Jace, be careful," Alec warned.

He didn't know what he was supposed to be careful about. The girl had seen them, seen him kill a demon. _Careful_ was long gone. Besides, it's not like there was anyone who would believe her. She had to know that. Jace carefully extracted his arm from Alec; he could feel it healing. "She can see us Alec. She already knows too much."

"So what do you want me to do with her?" Isabelle asked. _I wish I knew_. The whip caught a shaft of light and sparkled, still woven around the tiny mundie girl's wrist, which, for some reason, made him slightly uncomfortable. True, the girl had distracted him (more than once, Jace was ashamed to admit) and might have even gotten him killed if he wasn't as skilled as he was. But however conflicted his feelings were towards the girl, he didn't want to hurt her. _Feelings?_ He couldn't believe he had just thought that. Jace Wayland didn't have _feelings_ about girls.

"Let her go," he said, ignoring the startled glare Isabelle threw him before releasing the mundie from the whip. Jace watched the girl massage her now freed wrist with his mask firmly in place. _Well, it's now or never_ _._Time to get some answers.

Before Jace could begin to question the girl, Alec turned to him and suggested, "Maybe we should bring her back with us. I bet Hodge would like to talk to her."

_I guess taking her down to the Institute couldn't hurt_, Jace allowed to himself. Hodge would at least know what questions to ask the girl.

"No way are we bringing her to the Institute. She's a _mundie_."

Isabelle's comment struck Jace. What if the girl wasn't_ just_ a mundane?

He looked at the girl, golden eyes fastened on her face, ready to read it as his words fell on her ears. "Or is she? Have you had dealings with demons, little girl? Walked with warlocks, talked with the Night Children? Have you--?"

"My name is not little girl,'" she flung at him. He would have responded that she was indeed the smallest girl he had ever seen that wasn't classified as a midget or a Downworlder in an effort to goad her into admitting if she was, in fact, not human, but she continued on. "And I have no idea what you're talking about. I don't believe in--in demons, or whatever you--"

At that moment the storage room door opened. Ah, she hadn't been lying when she told them she had called for backup. Smart mundie. The tall, extra-extra- ordinary mundie she had entered the club peeked into the room and spoke one word. "Clary?" Her name. The girl pirouetted on the spot, surprisingly quickly.

Clary. How ironic that the mundie girl who could see them would be named _Clary_. Like the herb that was rumored to reveal the Fair Folk after being eaten.

The boy was followed into the room by the bouncer he, Alec, and Isabelle had to pass to get into the club. The particularly powerful glamour they had employed for the evening wasn't needed to fool him, though it hadn't been for Clary, but the bouncer _was_ very dumb. Jace suspected his brain had been fried by steroids. The things mundies do.

The boy stared at the girl, bee lined for her like she was the only person in the room to him; of course he couldn't see through the glamour, so to all intents and purposes she was the only person there to him, but it was more than that. Jace suspected the boy would look at her like that even if they were he was in a crowded room. _Tunnel vision, eyes on the prize_, thought Jace cynically.

"Are you okay?" the boy asked when he reached her, while he squinted into the darkness through his crooked glasses. _The kid is going to strain himself looking for things he will never find_, Jace mused uncharitably. "Why are you in here by yourself? What happened to the guys--you know, the ones with the knives?"

The girl turned to look at him, Isabelle and Alec, still grouped close to where the demon had disappeared. He caught her eye and gave her a shrug, amused at her situation, though a small part of him wished she wasn't in it, wished he could take her to the Institute, or down to Taki's to get to know her. He still had questions for her.

She turned to face her tall, dark-haired mundie companion. When her eyes tore from his, he felt it like something physical. Maybe it was just the color of her eyes that inspired the feeling. He _did_ miss Alicante. "I thought they went in here," the girl began. "But I guess they didn't. I'm sorry. It was a mistake," she said finally, addressing the huge bouncer who hulked in the doorway.

What else could she tell the bouncer and her friend? Only she would know the truth. Unbidden, a sense of satisfaction, of rightness, settled over Jace. It felt natural, correct that the girl knew his secret, the secret of his life, his world. He heard Isabelle laugh lightly, almost condescendingly at the girl as she left the room with the _very mundane_ mundane and the steroid fried bouncer_. I will see you again_, he called out to her in his mind. He hoped the curiosity he had for her could be appeased after spending some timewith the girl, though he suspected that it would take more than just a one-night stand to do it. And for some reason, he was okay with that. In fact, he couldn't wait.


	2. Shadowhunter 101

**Authors Note: This chapter was much harder to do. Jace is a really complicated person, truly like no other, but I like how it turned out and I hope you do too. Happy reading.**

**(Again, all characters, plot, and most of the dialogue belong to Cassandra Clare)**

After badgering Hodge for two solid hours until he finally caved, Jace was finally on his way to find the mundie girl who he couldn't stop thinking, talking, about. Needless to say, Alec had lost his patience with Jace's incessant talk of Clary and Isabelle seemed to be getting slightly jealous, so Jace hadn't wanted either of them to come.

Jace thought of his last conversation with his best-friend and partner. The night before, Jace had followed Clary home when she left the club, no longer interested in anything Pandemonium had to offer. He had gone alone. He knew Alec didn't like it when he went girl chasing but Alec had seemed personally offended when Jace had told him that he was again going after Clary alone today.

Jace took in the people passing him on the street, which was close to the neighborhood where he had followed Clary to the night before. He had been in the area less than five minutes when he spotted her stepping out of a restaurant.

She was with the tall, dark-haired mundie boy (again); he was starting to annoy Jace.

He followed them undetected through the humid air as they traveled down the street and through the door of a middling sized coffee joint that was advertising a free poetry reading, always several paces behind them. When he got inside he followed the wall and melted into the crowd, luckily before the girl suddenly turned toward the door, as if she was trying to leave. She tugged at the mundane boy's hand.

After a brief conversation between the two, she turned around and they parted ways. Jace watched the girl look for a place to sit and then settle herself onto an unoccupied love seat. He moved from his post by the pay-phone to sit on a lumpy, threadbare green couch a few feet away from where Clary sat on the loveseat, close enough to hear her speak to a blonde girl who was interested in the boy she always seemed to be with. He resisted the urge to snort when the blonde girl asked if the dark haired mundie was gay. After the blonde went back to her seat the boy appeared, back from an apparent coffee run, and handed Clary a white Styrofoam cup. The boy sat. Jace's amusement was quickly replaced with a feeling he wasn't familiar with as he watched the tiny redheaded girl stare quizzically at her friend. It was like she was looking for something.

He didn't bother trying to listen to the whispers they exchanged, but did notice the boy flick his eyes in the blonde's direction. She was telling him of the blonde's interest, obviously not trying to horde him to herself. She said the boy's name. Simon.

Clary moved her gaze to the front of the room; apparently, the boy on the stage was an acquaintance of hers.

Jace, who tended to enjoy poetry, shifted his body slightly to face the stage.

"Come my faux juggernaut, my nefarious loins! Slather every protuberance with arid zeal!"

Jace felt the mad urge to simultaneously laugh and gag.

Unable to listen to another second of the boy wailing about his _juggernaut, _Jace's eyes left the stage and fixed again on the two people seated on the loveseat, just in time to catch a pained look cross the boy's features. He had flushed a deep red while Clary laughed. Jace liked the sound, but felt a rush of that unfamiliar emotion again, and again he was unexplainably annoyed with the mundane boy.

With a start, Jace realized he was jealous.

Why would Jace Wayland ever be jealous of anyone? He was the most skilled Shadowhunter his age, and he knew he was good-looking, with his golden skin, tawny hair and amber eyes. Quite literally the Shadowhunter golden-boy. He was ridiculously popular with girls. Jace was not materialistic so no one ever had a possession he was jealous of.

Jace could only recall being jealous of someone once in his life. It was seven years ago, and he had just moved to New York. He had been jealous of Alec, who had both a father _and_ a mother. Jace, whose father had just died and had never known his mother, had an almost painful envy of Alec, though it didn't last long. The Lightwoods accepted Jace into their family like one of their own, albeit maybe a little wary of the stoic warrior boy. It was under the Lightwood's care that Jace learned there was more to life than just his studies and he was ever grateful for it.

Jace, needing something to clear his head, closed his eyes and listened to a few more lines of poetry. Sure enough, the deplorable verses burned away his thoughts like a shot of liquor would burn down one's throat. It was quite impossible to think of anything else while listening to _that_. It inspired a bemused sort of awful curiosity that a person just couldn't ignore.

Better now, he focused his hearing on Clary's loveseat. The boy brought up the matter of girlfriends, his voice was pained. Jace opened his eyes to see Clary's face. Jace was amused by her oblivious expression as the dark haired boy dropped not-so-subtle hints about where his passions truly lay (he wasn't hinting at the blonde).

Jace looked on, and couldn't help but brood a little on human feelings. He couldn't imagine himself ever looking at a girl like the boy was looking at Clary.

"So, who is it then?" Clary asked the boy. He couldn't believe she hadn't caught on yet. Last night he had observed, safely hidden behind one of the city's many dumpsters, as she and the tall boy hugged goodbye. He had watched the boy watch her with a hungry yet patient look in his eyes, and couldn't help but smile. The boy was doomed, even if he did not yet know it. The girl treated the boy like a beloved brother.

Jace couldn't help but feel bewildered by the boy. He didn't understand him. If the boy wanted the Clary so bad, he should do something about it. What's a guy got to lose? People can't just wait for everything they want to fall into their lap. Of course, the boy might not have pushed his suit because he too had noticed what it had taken Jace only moments to see. It was blaringly obvious. And amusing, at least to Jace.

Jace let himself laugh a little at the doomed mundane boy loud enough for Clary to hear. It was time for them to talk.

She whirled around, eyes searching for the source of the sound. Her eyes landed on his. The mundie boy looked around also but did not see him. She was learning quickly. He had not needed to lift his glamour for her to find him. He was pleased.

Jace raised his left hand smoothly off the back of the couch where it had been resting and waggled his fingers at Clary. He was left-handed, though that didn't mean much to him. What kind of warrior would he be if he couldn't do everything with both hands? He rose, lightly getting to his feet, and headed for the door of the crowded coffee bar, wanting her to follow.

He waited a short distance away from the exit for her, lounging against the wall in an alley, and texting Alec, who was asking when Jace would get back to the Institute. Being _parabatai_ with Alec was like having a nanny, albeit a demon killing one.

Jace was startled when he heard the door to the coffee bar shut. He looked up and saw Clary, who, it seemed, moved a lot faster than he expected. His eyes fixed on her face and he was again struck by how pretty she was.

Annoyed she could sidetrack him with just the sight of her face, Jace decided to return the favor and unbalance her.

"You're friends poetry is horrible." She blinked and he knew he had succeeded.

"What?" was all she said.

"I said his poetry was terrible. It sounds like he ate a dictionary and started vomiting up the words at random." Jace was pleased with the mental picture, and gave himself a mental pat on the back.

The comment seemed to have a different effect on Clary. "I don't care about Eric's poetry." Her voice was shaking. "I want to know why you are following me."

She couldn't have noticed him following her; there weren't many people, Shadowhunter and Downworlder alike, who could. She was being impertinent.

"Who said I was following you?" he inquired, not being able to resist baiting her. It was fun. She displayed her emotions freely, unlike Jace.

"_Nice_ try. And you were eavesdropping, too. Do you want to tell me what this is about, or should I just call the police?"

Jace toyed briefly with asking her what her deal with the police was but decided not to. How could he get her to realize she was no longer dealing with something any ordinary mundie could help her with? "And tell them what?" he asked her, scathingly. "That invisible people are bothering you? Trust me, little girl, the police aren't going to arrest someone they cant see."

Her eyes flashed. "I told you before, my name is not little girl. Its Clary," she ground out.

_Like I could forget_, thought Jace, though all he said was, "I know. Pretty name. Like the herb, clary sage. In the old days people thought eating the seeds would let you see the Fair Folk. Did you know that?" Again, Jace thought how ironic it was that the first ordinary person to see the Shadowhunters _in a century_ was a girl named Clary.

"I have no idea what you are talking about," she replied.

Only the mundane are so oblivious to the world around them. This girl seemed even more so. "You don't know much, do you? You seem to be a mundane like any other mundane, yet you can see me. It's a conundrum."Jace didn't mention that he and Hodge suspected she wasn't all mundane because he didn't know just _what _she was, other than mundane. He also didn't mention that Hodge thought she might be a threat.

"What's a mundane?" she asked.

Jace tended to read people well and was a good judge of character; to him, the girl seemed to be honestly bewildered. If there was something other than mundane in her lineage, she didn't seem to know of it. Which meant she didn't really pose a threat to anyone; how could she, when she didn't even know what a mundane was? "Someone of the human world. Someone like you."

"But _you're_ human," countered Clary.

"I am," Jace allowed, "But I'm not like you."It was true. He was a Shadowhunter, more than human. Plus, Jace regarded himself as exclusively one-of-a-kind. He was arrogant, but there was nothing wrong with talking the talk if you could walk the walk.

And Jace Wayland didn't _walk._ He sauntered-strolled-_swaggered_ with a look of good-humored and extremely charming boldness that bordered on insolence always on his face.

"You think you're better. That's why you were laughing at us."

He felt like telling her that he didn't _think_ he was better, he _knew_ it, but he knew she didn't know him well enough to see he was joking with her. She would skip the laughing part and head straight for Jace-is-a-pretentious-ass-ville.

Instead, he answered her question. "I was laughing at you because declarations of love amuse me, especially when unrequited, and because your Simon is one of the most mundane mundanes I've ever encountered. And because Hodge thought you might be dangerous, but if you are, you certainly don't know it."

"I'm dangerous?" she repeated, like she was sure she had heard him wrong. "I saw you kill someone last night. I saw you drive a knife up under his ribs, and--" She broke off, unable to finish.

"I may be a killer, but I know what I am. Can you say the same?" Killing things was what Jace was good at, he always had been.

"I'm an ordinary human being, just like you said." She paused, then asked, "Who's Hodge?" She had her head tilted in a way Jace could only describe as adorable.

"My tutor," Jace explained. "And I wouldn't be so quick to brand myself as ordinary, if I were you." He had an idea, one that would serve his mission, as well as give him an excuse to touch her. "Let me see your right hand."

"My right hand?" Again, she repeated his words back to him like she hadn't heard him correctly. She could be a parrot, what with her habits and her brightly colored hair. "If I show you my hand, will you leave me alone?"

_Harsh, _thought Jace, amused. "Certainly." _Not, _he added silently.

She extended her hand to him, almost as if against her better judgment, watching him warily. He looked down at her hand, white, tiny, and alone in the light falling down on them from the streets many establishments. He reached out and took it, swallowing it with his own, examining first the front and then the back. He decided he liked freckles, even though what he was looking for was not on her hand. "Nothing. You're not left-handed, are you?"

"No. Why?"

He let go of her hand, somewhat unwillingly, and shrugged. Jace liked girls who knew what they wanted (and after meeting Jace, they usually wanted _him_, which Jace was totally fine with). He didn't usually have to sneak touches and caresses with girls, as his charm did all the work for him. Jace wasn't one to say no to a no-strings-attached involvement with a girl, because to him this was the only involvement to be had.

"Most Shadowhunter children get Marked on their right hands--or left, if they're left-handed like I am--when they're still young. It's a permanent rune that lends an extra skill with weapons." Jace looked down at the black, eye-shaped rune that identified him as Nephilim on his hand and motioned it to Clary.

"I don't see anything." Jace wasn't surprised, as he had purposely glamoured it to see if she could again look through it if she wanted to. If she couldn't do it on command then it was just fluke.

"Let your mind relax," he urged her calmly, ever patient in the pursuit of his goal. He was glad Alec and Isabelle weren't there: they would be hissing at him to be careful, to watch his step. "Wait for it to come to you. Like waiting for something to rise to the surface of water."

"You're crazy," she accused him, but without any real volition. He could tell she wanted to see if she could do it. She dropped her eyes to his hand. He saw her eyes slide out of focus and then sharply focus again and he knew she penetrated the glamour. She blinked and asked him, shakily, "A tattoo?"

Jace couldn't help but feel extremely pleased with himself. "I thought you could do it. And it's not a tattoo-it's a Mark. They're runes, burned into our skin."

"They make you handle weapons better?" She asked carefully, as if trying to get her brain to accept what she was seeing and what he was telling her.

"Different Marks do different things," he explained. "Some are permanent but the majority vanish when they've been used."

"That's why your arms aren't all inked up today? Even when I concentrate?"

Had she been looking at his arms? Concentrating, even? Jace hadn't noticed, but her question pleased him nonetheless. "That's exactly why," was all he said. "I knew you had the Sight, at least." Jace looked up at the sky. Hodge expected him back soon. "It's nearly fully dark. We should go."

"_We_? I thought you said you were going to leave me alone."

As if he could stay away. She was fascinating. He couldn't help but want to spend _more_ time with her. "I lied," Jace said. He didn't lie often, but he certainly didn't regret lying a few moments ago. "Hodge said I have to bring you to the Institute with me. He wants to talk to you." _Which means I get to get to know you better_, added Jace silently. He couldn't wait.

"Why does he want to talk to me?"

"Because you know the truth now," explained Jace. He hoped she wouldn't remember that he had told her all she knew about the Shadow world. He had just spilled secrets in the past few minutes that he didn't have to, just because it make it more necessary to get her to the Institute later. Jace admitted it was kind of twisted, but didn't care. "There hasn't been a mundane who knew about us for at least a hundred years."

"About _us_?" She was doing the parrot thing again. "You mean people like you. People who believe in demons?"

"People who kill them," Jace clarified. "We're called Shadowhunters. At least, that's what we call ourselves. The Downworlders have less complimentary names for us." Quite a few of the New York Downworlders had a few choice names for Jace specifically, the thought of which never failed to brighten his day.

"Downworlders?" Clary echoed. Again. Jace was starting to feel slightly suspicious and briefly considered asking her if she had recently accepted a brightly colored drink from an odd stranger. Sometimes, if the Fair Folk got bored, they liked to play tricks on mundies. One of their concoctions could certainly be the behind her parrot-like behavior.

No, he decided. She was probably just in shock. He hoped. "The Night Children. Warlocks. The fey. The magical folk of this dimension."

Jace watched Clary's hair shimmer in the half-light of the street as she shook her head. "Don't stop there. I suppose there are also, what, vampires and werewolves and zombies?"

There was something odd about her tone, and he suspected she was making fun of him. "Of course there are. Although you mostly find zombies farther south, where the voudun priests are."

"What about mummies? Do they only hang around in Egypt?"

Yep. She was making fun of him. "Don't be ridiculous. No one believes in mummies."

"They don't?"

"Of course not." For what seemed to be the first time in his life, Jace was tired of shop talk. He was anxious to get her to the Institute, where she could learn all about Downworlders and demons. "Look, Hodge will explain all this to you when you see him."

Jace, with his eyes fixed on Clary's, saw it when she mentally dug in her heels. "What if I don't want to see him?" She sounded like a petulant child, like Max.

"That's your problem. You can either come willingly or unwillingly." He would have a lot of fun if she chose unwillingly.

"Are you threatening to _kidnap_ me?"

Ah, she was catching on. How pleasant. "If you want it to look that way, yes."

Jace studied her mouth as it opened, her eyes narrowed into furious slits. Her words, most likely harsh ones, Jace suspected, never formed. Jace instead heard the indignant vibrating of a phone. Probably that Simon character wondering where she had run off to.

Jace, ever the gentleman, told Clary, in what he hoped was an immensely self-sacrificing tone, "Go ahead and answer it if you like."He resisted the urge to roll his eyes and sigh.

He examined her slender back through the shirt she was wearing when she turned away from him and answered the phone. "Mom?" After a pause, she said, "It's all right, Mom. I'm fine. I'm on my way home--"

Just as Jace was going to interrupt and say that she was going to the Institute if he had to drag her there himself, Clary whirled back around to face him, seemingly forgetting her attempt at shutting him out of her conversation, and yelled. "Mom! Mom, are you all right?" Another pause, this one shorter. "_Who's_ found you?" Clary was frantic now. "Mom, did you call the police? Did you--"

Jace, bewildered, watched as Clary blanched and screamed for her mother into the phone she clutched to her ear so tightly. He watched as she looked at her phone and redialed. He watched as she began shaking. He had an absurd urge to reach out to her, to hold her. He watched as she hit redial again, and he watched as her trembling hands lost their grip on her phone, watched as it hit the pavement and cracked. He helplessly stood by as she sunk to her knees, and not knowing it was broken, grabbed at the ruined phone.

He was startled from his stiff, awkward post when she shrieked, Dammit!" and hurled the now-useless bit of technology back down. He saw tears swimming in her eyes.

"Stop that," Jace said. He pulled her to her feet, where she swayed, his left hand fastened all the way around her wrist. He was afraid she would fall, afraid she would shatter into a thousand tiny pieces. "Has something happened?" _Idiot_, Jace cursed himself. Of course something has happened.

Clary's unfocused eyes fastened on something and she made a sudden movement, snatching at his shirt and grabbing the Sensor he has put there. "Give me your phone. I have to--"

"It's not a phone," Jace said, thought he didn't try to take it back from her. He didn't care about the damn Sensor, he was worried about _her_. "It's a Sensor. You won't be able to use it."

"But I need to call the police!" Jace didn't stop to muse again about Clary and the police. She was wild-eyed. He needed to calm her down. He needed to understand what was going on before he could help her.

"Tell me what happened first," Jace told her, but Clary didn't seem interested in explaining. She went to tear her wrist from his grip, but he was ready for her. His hand tightened. She was being ridiculous. "I can _help_ you," Jace pleaded. He never pleaded. Clary didn't know him well enough to know that, and he suspected if she did, she would be too far gone to care. He didn't think she even processed his words or considered the option that he could help her. She had a lot to learn.

Jace paused as she raised her eyes to his. Hold on. Did she hear me? Her green eyes no longer brought to mind an Idris hillside, but acid. Out of nowhere, her free hand rose up and she hit him hard across the face, her rounded nails leaving furrows on his cheek. Startled, Jace drew away and regretted it instantly, because she took advantage of his surprise and wrenched her captive wrist away.

She took off like a bat out of hell, heading in the direction of her house. Jace's eyes blazed after her, annoyed; the molten gold burning brightly through the darkness. He didn't bother going directly after her. He would catch up in no time. He turned stiffly and began walking towards the back of the alley. He drew out his stele and reconnected the _iratze_ on his arm with.

After he was finished, he replaced the stele into one of his many pockets. He shook out his neck before moving to the entrance of the alley, and then began the walk to Clary's house. He had a feeling she would need back-up, and even though he was quite upset with her right now, he figured he was the only one who could help her.


	3. An Armful of Precious Trouble

**Authors Note: Sorry it took so long for an update. There was a death in the family and then I started classes, so there hasn't been any extra time for me to spend in the Mortal Instruments world. Plus, writing the transitions in Jace's feelings is pretty hard for me to figure out. The naughty boy has been giving me loads of trouble :) Anyways, I hope you all enjoy. I've had load of alerts place on the story, but feel free to review it. I'd like to know how I'm doing.**

Around the corner from Clary's apartment, Jace heard a scream. In an instant, his body exploded into motion, running at breakneck speed toward the door of her building. He didn't bother checking to see if it was unlocked, didn't bother with his stele if it was; it gave easily under a vicious shove of his shoulder. Jace sprinted up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He stopped when he saw an opened door and the chaos that lay beyond. What happened here?

Jace walked slowly into the apartment, making no sound. Jace took out an Angel blade and named it. He glanced into the demolished kitchen before he continued on. He passed the gutted sofa in the living room, his eyes searching the ruined canvas and books littering the floor, looking for a flash of copper hair. Where the hell was Clary?

Then, he heard something…. a sick gagging that he suspected would have that mundie boy Clary was always hanging around with retching all over what was left of Clary's apartment . But all prejudices against the boy aside, Jace was suddenly very thankful that he had such a strong stomach..Isabelle's sorry forays into 'cooking' turned out good for something other than a good reason to begin a strict diet.

He crept through the apartment toward the sound; it led him to a bedroom that was pretty, Jace supposed, in a feminine way and from what he could see it was not destroyed like the rest of the house.

Scratch that, he though, as his gaze lowered to the floor of the room. There were deep gouges, scoring the hard-wood floor by the bed. Jace moved silently into the room and what he saw made him cringe and swear.

She was lying motionless on her stomach, a dark red puddle slowly seeping onto the floor; he didn't like that puddle at all. A lumpy, black something lying on top across her torso. Her hands were stretched out toward the door and her bright hair was tumbled around her face, hiding it from him, but he could tell she was breathing. Jace let out a ragged breath that he hadn't realized he had been holding. He wasn't accustomed to worrying about other people. Alec and Isabelle could take care of themselves.

The lumpy, black something was a Ravener. Jace moved quickly forward and kicked the gagging and squirming thing away from Clary before it could do any further damage to her. Plus, a Ravener could easily suffocate someone as small as Clary. He glimpsed the pieces of glass that pierced its alligator-like hide and saw with no little amount of satisfaction (and something that felt suspiciously like pride) that the Sensor Clary had taken from him earlier was shoved half-way down the Raveners throat. He smiled: it looked like Clary wasn't as helpless as he thought. Shadowhunters always had a weapon or two (or five, if you were Jace) on them at all times. The fact that Clary, who was raised a _mundane,_ killed one without an actual weapon was astonishing. He was liking this girl more and more every minute. Clary….

Clary, who lay unconscious and bloody on the floor not two feet away from him. Jace was jolted back to the present and the smile faded. Jace raised his blade into the air. He was going to enjoy this more than usual, he was thinking as the Ravener gagged one last time and disappeared. For a second, Jace could only gaze blackly at the spot on the floor where the Ravener had been. Oh, well, he consoled himself, at the rate they were going, Jace supposed he would have another opportunity to save Clary's very fine butt very soon.

He reached down and gathered her up in his arms like a child. He carried her swiftly out of the apartment, pausing only to grab a hand towel from the kitchen, and then down the stairs and through the foyer. He gently deposited her onto the ground behind a few bushes that would hide them from the gathering crowd of people that was congregating around the building. He needed to get them out of here. Fast. He got down on his knees, and began to take stock of how bad she was.

It wasn't pretty. Clary had small acid scores on her face and throat, but her wrist was completely covered in it. She had a small scrape on her head, not to mention on several other places, and he suspected she had a concussion and maybe a few broken ribs. Worst of all, he spied a Ravener sting on the back of her neck. Now he knew where the blood was coming from. At least she was still alive. No thanks to him, thought Jace. He should have gone straight after her instead of sulking in the alley. He thanked the Angel that Clary more spunk than the average mundie, even though Jace suspected that she wasn't _just _a mundane. If she wouldn't have fought it, it would have killed her.

Jace had just begun tearing the towel into strips when he heard Clary make a strangled noise. It sounded like she regaining consciousness. He glanced up just in time to see her open her eyes. Again, Jace thought of home when he met her gaze. None of that, now, Jace chided himself. He had to stabilize her well enough for the trip back to the Institute.

"Don't move," he warned her. He didn't need her retching all over the place while he tried to stop the bleeding. Clary promptly disobeyed. She hasn't listened to anything I've told her so far, Jace noted. "I told you not to move," Jace said, trying to keep himself from cursing at her. "That Ravener demon got you in the back of the neck. It was half-dead so it wasn't much of a sting, but we have to get you back to the Institute. Hold still." He smeared a salve he kept in his pocket for situations such as these across the make-shift bandages.

"That thing-the monster--it _talked_."Clary whispered to him.

"You've talked to a demon before." Now that he actually had his hands on her, binding the sting on her neck, desire was the furthest thing from Jace's mind.

"The demon in Pandemonium--it looked like a person."

"It was an Eidolon demon. A shape-shifter. Raveners look like they look. Not very attractive, but they're too stupid to care."

"It said it was going to eat me."

"But it didn't," said Jace, reassuring her as much as himself. "You killed it." Jace finished the knot her was tying around Clary's delicate neck and leaned back on his haunches to look at her. She struggled to sit and he let her without a word. He had a feeling she was going to do it anyway, no matter what he told her.

"The police are here. We should--," Clary began, only to have Jace interrupt her.

"There's nothing they can do. Somebody probably heard you screaming and reported it." God knows if he had heard her from _around the corner_, someone else had to have heard her too. "Ten to one those aren't real police officers. Demons have a way of hiding their tracks."

"My mom," Clary reminded him, her eyes huge and pleading. She sounded like she had to force the words from her throat.

"There's Ravener poison coursing through your veins _right now." _Jace was starting to feel a little cornered, manic with a tinge of desperation. He ignored the feeling, pushing it back, as far back into his mind as it would go. It wasn't important right now. "You'll be dead in an hour if you don't come with me." He needed to get her out of here. Immediately. Jace stood and extended his hand to her, more as a show of courtesy than an actual choice; he was taking her to the Institute whether she took his hand or not.

Jace was saved from resorting to anything dramatic, like tossing her kicking and screaming over his shoulder, when she took his hand. He gently pulled her up and held her steady when she swayed, bracing his other hand on the small of her back. He looked down at her pale and bloodstained face; she was so tiny. "Can you walk?" he asked her. She didn't look like she was up to it.

"I think so," said Clary. She looked out at the crowd of police and what seemed to be neighbors. "Her hand--"

Jace, who had already spotted the blonde 'cop', interrupted Clary again. They were running out of time. "I told you they might be demons." Jace quickly surveyed his surroundings, his eyes following the length of the house and lingering on the back of the building. "We have to get out of here. Can we go through the alley?"

Clary shot down his hopes of a discreet getaway when she said, "It's bricked up. There's no way--," This time it wasn't Jace that interrupted her, but a sudden bout of ragged coughs. Jace saw the blood that coated her had when she lifted it away from her mouth. That was _so_ not good. She whimpered, a low and scared sound in the back of her throat.

Jace took an instant to think. Jace was running low on options as well as time. He could only think of one way to get them out of there without being seen and he didn't know if it would work, didn't know if it _could_ work. Uncertainties stormed through his mind: Was he insane? Could her body handle it? Was it in her blood to withstand it? Jace suspected it was, was ninety-percent sure it was, but was that good enough? Could he take that chance?

Still not entirely sure he could do what he was contemplating, Jace snatched up Clary's wrist and turned it so the inner part her arm was exposed to him. She was so pale. Through her skin he could see the Raveners poison as it pumped its way through her veins. He couldn't stand the thought of her closing her eyes and never opening them again, couldn't stand the thought of never seeing that Idris green again. Without letting himself think about the possibly terrible consequences of what he was doing, Jace pulled his stele from his belt.

He lowered it to her arm, hardly noticing when she tried to pull away. Jace didn't breathe as the stele cut into her skin. Then it was done. All he could do now was wait. And pray. _Me_? _Pray_? Jace wondered what was she was doing to him. He let go of her and his hand tingled where it had come in contact with her skin. He resisted the urge to wipe his hand on his pants; he didn't want to offend her.

"What's that supposed to do?"Clary asked, startling him.

"It'll hide you. Temporarily." He saw Clary's eyes lingered on his stele and then moved to meet his. "My stele," he told her before she had to ask, quickly giving the name of every Shadowhunters most important tool. Now was not the time for long-winded explanations.

Clary's eyes moved from his face to the ground, losing focus. "Jace," she breathed, his name falling from her lips for the first time. Before he could dwell on how right it sounded, she collapsed. He caught her as a reflex and cradled her small body in his arms, struck by how light she was. He hoped this was a reaction to the Ravener poison and not to the rune. If she passed out from the rune, then all might be lost. Ah, come on, be strong Clary…!

He whispered in her ear, promising to get her to the Covenant, to the Institute, to Hodge. He didn't think she heard him though. He watched as her eyes fluttered past his face and rested on the stars before closing as she drifted out of consciousness.

Jace stepped silently from behind the bushes, staying in long shadows in the alley that led to the front of the street. Using a glamour to hide himself, he turned the corner and began to run. It was surprising easy, easier than he would have thought, to run with Clary in his arms. The institute wasn't all that far away and Jace wanted to get Clary to Hodge as quickly as he could and no way he was going to be able to get a cab in this chaos.


	4. The Not So Secret Dirty Little Secret

Jace burst through the heavy wooden doors of the Institute, dripping wet, smudged with dirt and blood that he had picked up checking Clary over in the bushes, and began bellowing for Hodge. He heard a _ding_ and saw Hodge come careening out of the elevator with a speed Jace supposed was left over from his days as a Shadowhunter. Hodge, his harried eyes fixed on Jace, froze when he got to entry hall. "Jace, who is _that_? And do you have _any_ idea what Mayrse will say when she sees what _you have done to her carpet?"_ Jace narrowed his eyes at his tutor. He was feeling very….._uncharitable_ to people in general right now. Clary was in pretty bad shape and Hodge was blathering about Mayrse's carpet.

Jace had indeed considered just what his adoptive mother would say and do to make him think twice about ever sullying her expensive, cherished décor again, but weighed against the slowly slipping life of the armload of precious trouble he was carrying, he really didn't give a damn.

Jace didn't pause to explain away the puddles of murky water he was leaving behind him in the foyer, but kept on heading for the elevator. Before Hodge could work himself into a proper fit and lecture him, Jace said, as he strode by his tutor, "Hodge, this is Clary. I'm quite sure she would introduce herself, but, unfortunately, she is _unconscious_; a Ravener stung her. I would appreciate it if you gave me a rain check on the lecture regarding Mayrse's carpet."

Once in the elevator, Jace turned to press the UP button, only to see that Hodge had not moved from the spot he seemed to be welded to in the entry way. Jace resisted the urge to curse and said slowly, painfully slowly, "Hodge, you have to help Clary. I'll take care of the carpet later. I promise."

Hodge, now presumably aware of the grim situation at hand, scrambled into the elevator after Jace. He even jabbed the UP button so Jace wouldn't have to let go of Clary. In the elevator, Jace filled Hodge in on what had happened, only leaving out that he Marked her. He didn't need Hodge freaking again. He'd save that for later. Plus, Jace was still trying to figure out what it was about the girl that drove him to take such a chance, a chance he had never foreseen himself taking for anyone, let alone someone he had just met. It didn't matter that the Mark worked; he could be thrown out of the Clave for this. Being a Shadowhunter was who he was, was part of the fabric of his very being. He didn't know if he liked the hold Clary had over him, what she could make him do.

No, he would save that tidbit for later because it was definitely better for everyone involved, Jace included. And then there was the reality of the sooner Hodge healed Clary, the sooner Jace could breathe easier and the sooner they could start the search for her mother. He wouldn't wish the loss of family, of a parent on anyone; he knew from experience just how painful it was to lose a parent, to be without family. Suddenly, Jace thought of how worried Clary's father would be when he got home to the trashed apartment to find his wife and daughter missing.

The doors of the elevator opened to show Jace a very pissed looking Isabelle and a petulant Alec.

"What are you yelling about? Your day all alone go wrong for you? That's what you get for going without--" Isabelle began indignantly, but broke off when her eyes fell on Clary. "Is that the mundie from Pandemonium?" she asked Jace. Alec, who hadn't known of Jace's mission to retrieve Clary said, "Surely not. Jace wouldn't bring a mundie here." Jace couldn't help but thinking that technically, he didn't bring a mundie here. Clary hadn't turned into a Forsaken after he had Marked her, and that could only mean she was at least part Shadowhunter.

He ignored Alec and said to Isabelle, "Yeah, it's the girl from Pandemonium," as he got out of the elevator, leaving a stunned Alec behind. Isabelle, however, followed Jace and Hodge as they headed for the infirmary. Jace didn't want to bring up that he had Marked Clary yet, and especially not in front of Alec and Isabelle. He would definitely avoid that at all costs, he thought acerbically. Isabelle would be pissed that she had been left out, and Alec's severe view of the Law would have him spluttering at Jace.

Once inside the infirmary, Jace laid Clary gently down on one of the numerous thin cots, only to be shooed away by Hodge. Isabelle got to stay; something about Hodge needing her to strip Clary. Any other time, Jace would have been interested in the stripping of a pretty girl, but now he couldn't even pretend to care. Jace took one last look at Clary's tiny, inert, and bloody form before he left the infirmary, and the words that so often have been coming to mind when he thought of her sprang up again: _Ah, Clary…_

Those words had so many contexts, so many possible meanings: annoyance, amusement, appreciation, tenderness….

Jace came to a screeching halt, in both the hallway and his thoughts. _Tenderness? _When had he last felt tender for something? Could he even remember?

He was momentarily transported back to long ago: he was a little boy and he had his beloved falcon on his arm. Oh, yes, he could remember: the lesson he could never forget; the lesson that was more important than all the others; the lesson that was slowly but surely slipping away, pushed farther and farther with every moment he spent with Clary Fray.

Jace sifted through his emotions. Exhaustion was there, that was normal. Anxiety and worry were there too, those also vey understandable, but something else was there: empathy because he knew what it was like to lose a parent; tenderness; a feeling that all would be lost if Clary left the world; and an aching, otherworldly pull that called to him, urged him to sit by Clary's bed and hold her hand until she woke up, to be the first thing those Idris green eyes saw when she opened them. He turned and put his hand on the knob on the infirmary door, but caught himself before he could open it.

Jace shook his head, as if to dislodge the thoughts and strange feelings that were taking root there. He turned away from the infirmary and pointed his tired body in the direction of his room.

On the way there, Jace decided that emotions, specifically tenderness, were tiring. He made a mental note to try to avoid that particular one in the future, even though he knew it was a lost hope; with Clary around, he had a feeling he would be getting very used to it.

When he entered the hallway where his room was located, his steps faltered, the hesitation imperceptible to all but himself. Alec was waiting outside his door. Alec sure did have a crap sense of timing. All Jace wanted to do was sleep and get to the bottom of the mystery that was Clary, but it looked like both would have to wait.

Upon seeing Jace, Alec stepped out of the shadows and into a pool of light given off by one of the lamps lining the corridor and fixed shrouded eyes on the approaching Jace.

"Hey, Alec. What do you want?" Jace was feeling more and more unsympathetic to other people's problems with every second.

"I want to know what possessed you to bring that girl_, _that _mundie_ _GIRL, _here, into the _Institute. _You could expose our whole world. You don't know this girl. She could be anything, she could be--_"_

"I'm not going to talk with you about this, Alec. At least not right now."

"Why not, Jace? You talk to me about everything else! What makes this so different? What makes her different? What makes her so special that you bring her here?"

Well, there it goes. Jace had gone and said the wrong thing and cracked Alec's almost impenetrable temper. Yea me, thought Jace.

Then Jace realized why Alec was so outraged. Jace felt a bitter grimace form on his face. Alec was jealous. The suspicions that had building for the past year and a half were finally solidifying into something more. Like the truth. Looks like he would have a pretty huge 'elephant in the room' to ignore from now on: Alec's dirty little not-so-secret secret. Well, at least Jace could relate: he had a secret of his own that was turning out to be not-secret.

Jace guessed he should have been more restrained in the soliloquies dedicated to Clary he had been spouting earlier that day at the Institute, because that, and the fact that Clary was now here in the Institute, were surely to blame for this confrontation. Suddenly, he felt the adrenaline that had been his constant that day seep from his body.

Jace let go of harsh feelings he had for people at the moment and looked at his best-friend. Alec was his brother, for all intents and purposes. This could hurt them.

"I'm not going to explain myself to you Alec. I'm tired and I am going to bed. Right now." Jace reached out for the doorknob only to have Alec step in front of him, blocking the door.

"The Hell you are! Why did you do it, Jace?"

The tone of Alec's voice, combined with the fact that Jace was bone tired and Alec was blocking the way to Jace's bed, something that Jace _really_ wanted at the moment, all served to rekindle that burning feeling of mild peevishness, only this time it wasn't so general.

"Did you forget that Hodge asked me to bring her here? And just yesterday you were all for bringing her here. What's your problem now, Alec? Why are you so upset that she's here? She would have died if I would have left here there! That's what makes her different! Do you think I should have just left her there for the mundie doctors to scratch their heads over? She was attacked in her own home--"

Jace stopped himself and looked away from Alec. They could be here all night, and the advice he had given himself minutes before about emotions being tiring was all too true. That outburst was the last bit of emotion he had for the day and it had taken all the energy he had left.

"Just move Alec. We can talk about this later." With that, Jace moved forward, fully prepared to move Alec if he didn't move himself.

Alec, however, sensing the finality of Jace's statement and the dark but blank expression on his best-friend's face, moved out of the way.

Jace opened the door and turned around to meet Alec's eyes. "You'll get your answers when Clary wakes up; then we can all have a pow-wow with Hodge."

Alec didn't reply but instead set his jaw and stalked to his room.

Jace didn't bother flicking the light switch; he could find anything in is room with his eyes closed. He sank down on the bed and began struggling to pull off his wet clothes.

After he had changed into his pajamas, he lay and stared at the ceiling for a while, thinking of Clary and how she made him _feel_.

He didn't know what to do about it; didn't know whether to push her away or….not. What would happen if he didn't push her away? He didn't think he could bear to push her away. She was just a girl anyways; how could she ruin Jace Wayland in any way?

Jace pushed those thoughts aside. He resolved to take as long as he needed to decide just what he was going to do about Clary. He promised himself that he would ignore that pull to her not go near the infirmary, or wherever Clary was, until she woke up. Looking down at her helpless body would just make him want to stay with her to make sure she didn't get herself into trouble again and that would _not_ help him make an objective decision. He would need a clear head to think and his head was anything but clear whenever he was near Clary.

Feeling that he had at least some control over the crazy spiral that had become his life in the past two days, Jace let himself relax. The last thing he thought about before he drifted off to sleep was Clary and when he dreamed, he dreamed of fiery hair and Idris green eyes.


	5. The Clary Situation

**Authors Note:** Thanks to everyone who has alerted this, but I would appreciate it if you would review it too. Reader input is very important; I'm worried I'm not making Jace sarcastic enough. To all those who have reviewed, thank you SO much for your support :) It's good to know I'm doing OK so far writing Jace.

_Thump-thump-thump_.

Without opening his eyes, Jace reached over to his bedside table, grabbed a book, _Paradise Lost_, he thought (he had numerous prejudices against the poor, undeserving book), and flung it at the door.

Satisfied, he resumed trying to go to sleep. He had woken around an hour ago, an old, reoccurring dream to blame. His very pleasant dream of a certain girl was interrupted by a visit from Jace's long dead father. While Jace's father was no longer among the living, his dream-father had yet to realize it was dead. Michael Wayland frequented Jace's dreams, instructing and disciplining by replaying old lessons. This lesson had been _very_ relevant to the position Jace presently found himself in: the Clary Situation. The dream reminded him just how deeply someone could be hurt if he was stupid enough to fall in love, something Jace was horrified to admit he had forgotten, however briefly1, in his dream of Clary.

At least the hour he had spent lying awake has been good for something. He had devised _Operation Clary Is Just A Girl_, which he planned to implement _immediately_. Looking back, he didn't know why he had thought his options were so bleak last night. It was simple: ignore the pull at all costs.

_Thump-thump_.

"Shit," Jace cursed and rolled over, fixing half-opened eyes his alarm clock. 5:52 AM. He had been planning on sleeping in today, to at least 7 before he got started on those damn carpets.

_THUMP-THUMP_.

He swung his eyes to the door. His only thought was that that had better not be Alec; his partner was seriously wearing on Jace's already short patience. He lifted himself from the bed and started for the door. He opened it with one smooth, ruthless but graceful motion, intent on giving a blistering lecture to whomever disturbed his--well, not sleep, but who would know that he wasn't really asleep?

He looked out into the hallway to see…nobody. Automatically and most resignedly, he dropped his eyes to see Church _mwurp-_ing up at him.

Jace remembered the day Isabelle brought Church home. A Warlock had been giving kittens away in front of…what else? A church. Oh, how clever you are, Isabelle. The blue Persian had been the last of the litter and Isabelle had always been a sucker, at least compared to Jace's own more stony, sometimes callous, nature. Alec had moped about it for weeks; he had wanted a puppy. Jace had been endlessly amused by the cat's homely, smashed face.

As Church grew older, though, it swiftly became apparent that he wasn't just a normal cat, which they all should have expected, as Isabelle got him from a Warlock. Jace wasn't all too sure about the Clave's stance on experimental animal breeding, but no one in the family was in a hurry to oust Church; the cat had his uses.

Right now, however, Jace couldn't remember any of the previously redeeming traits that the cat possessed.

"Church, it is HODGE who feeds you. I don't even know where he keeps the food, you wretched cat. And I don't even know why he bothers with feeding you; Isabelle was the one who brought you home in the first place. You are _her_ damn responsibility, so go depend on _her_!"

Jace thought about adding a _DAMN IT!_ to the end of his sentence, but then he would have to make sure his door was kept shut forever after; Church liked dealing out his vengeance in steaming hot, coiled piles, while Jace liked his room just the way it was. He had way too little in the way of possessions to go and piss off Church. That cat was the one thing in the Institute, aside from Mayrse, whom Jace didn't care to cross. Nonetheless, it was a sight to see: Jace walking eggshells to keep that damn cat happy.

Jace's 'blistering lecture' didn't have the desired effect on the contrary feline. Church rubbed himself across Jace's blue-striped-pajama clad legs and _mwurp_-ed again. Jace knew his plans of going back to sleep were over. Jace close the door to his room and padded down to the kitchen to see what he could scrounge up for Church.

Jace opened the fridge and scanned the contents: cartons of leftover Chinese, some bowls of untouched Isabelle-food, and a few Styrofoam boxes of full of food from Taki's, most notably one with spaghetti in it; Jace had a soft spot for pasta, spaghetti in particular. Jace made a mental note to snag it before Alec or Hodge could beat him to it, though he didn't think he would have to worry about it until Isabelle decided that she needed them all as guinea pigs for some of new, insane recipe of hers. Jace shook his head. Sometimes he almost believed that she was trying to give them food-poisoning so she could throw a party in the Institute; the only thing that kept him from really being suspicious was the fact that Mayrse and Robert would tar and feather her if she did.

He grabbed a bowl full of…something that Isabelle had made a few days ago and spooned some out onto a plate for Church. When Jace sat the plate on the ground in front of Church, the cat took one sniff of the stuff and scrunched up his already smashed face. He took a step back and eyed Jace reproachfully. Jace felt a slow, satisfied grin spread across his face. He bet the cat would never come to him for food again. "Later, Church."

Jace headed back to his room to change into some Shadowhunting clothes. When he opened his eyes after he pulled the shirt over his head, Jace's spotted the mound of filthy clothes he had peeled from his body last night; he suspected the pile smelled awful. He could see the splotches of both Clary's blood and demon ichor. It looked like Jace would lose one more set of clothes in the fight against evil. How sad. If his clothes were in such bad shape, Jace could only imagine the state of Clary's things. He had a brief mental image of her wearing a sheet wrapped around her body toga-style; very pleasant….

He bent to scoop them up but paused when he reached down to grab them off the floor, and not because he was bothered by the smell. He was remembering something. A flash of something golden that he had just glimpsed on his hell-bent course dash up the stairs in Clary's building; a small golden plaque lettered with '_Madame Dorothea, Seer and Prophetess'_. Looks like Jace had some digging to do. He didn't mind. The carpets could rot for all Jace cared, and it might shed some light on why Clary had been attacked and her mother kidnapped. He left his room and walked toward the infirmary, intending to grab Clary's clothes and burn them with his before he left the Institute to do a background check on Madame Dorothea. He would thoroughly enjoy leaving Clary without anything to wear.

Alas, when he got to the infirmary, he didn't see Clary breezing about clad in nothing but a thin, white sheet, but he knew there would be no way she could possibly be awake yet. Still, Jace tried not to be disappointed. Well, he comforted himself, you can't always get what you want. Besides, Jace wasn't at all sure he would be able to leave the infirmary if he entered it and that wouldn't bode well at all for _Operation Clary Is Just A Girl_. He was going to have to come up with an acronym for that.

Instead, he was almost flattened by Isabelle outside the infirmary door, on her way, probably, to whip up a small disaster that she would call breakfast in the kitchen.

"God, Jace. Lurk much?"

Jace shot a smile, the type of smile one might give to a sweet but slow child, at his adoptive sister. "I wasn't lurking, Isabelle. I was coming to get Clary's clothes. They probably need to be burned," he said slowly, sounding out the obvious.

"Oh, good. I didn't want to touch them."She retreated back into the long room that was the infirmary and came back seconds later with a pillowcase stuffed with clothes. Smelly, bloody clothes. "I can't wait till she wakes up!" Isabelle exclaimed, "She'll finally be able to take a shower. I don't know how much longer I can take it. She's filthy and I keep having to squelch my urge to beautify."

Jace rolled his eyes. Isabelle's considerable…_charm_ was certainly unique. "Stop complaining, Isabelle. It doesn't become you. Are you going to be staying with Clary until she wakes up?"

Isabelle gave him a miserable glare and shoved the bundle into his arms. "Yes," she answered. "Hodge healed her but he said it would take a while for her body to recuperate; something about her being overly exhausted and not having any Marks to help her body deal with that and the demon poisoning. He said it might take a week! I can't take a week, Jace!"

Jace thought she could go on whining to him for a week, which _he_ certainly couldn't take, so when she paused to draw in a breath, Jace interrupted with, "Just tell me when she wakes up, okay? I've got to take care of these and then I'm going out for a little while. I'll see you later," and strode off before Isabelle could babble any more. She must be starved for attention, Jace thought, having been shut away in the infirmary with Clary for such a long _hour_.

Free, Jace made his way down to the furnace and tossed his and Clary's clothes in. The dancing flames he glimpsed before he closed the hatch reminded him of Clary's hair, only he thought the flames were somehow less brilliant.

He walked back to his room and grabbed his jacket, and then left the Institute, his feet pointed toward Taki's, a favorite source of both food and information. It was only a few blocks away so Jace didn't bother with a cab. He, personally, was a devout pedestrian, while Isabelle and Alec tended to grumble if they had to walk too far.

Once there, Jace said hi to Clancy and stepped through the door. He was usually very welcome here, which was saying something; there were a lot of places in the city that had no love for Jace Wayland. There were some places where Jace knew the clientele, and probably the proprietors, too, would take a shot at killing him and tossing his dead body into a dumpster…or a pot, depending on which place it was, if they could, but most of them had seen Jace in action and all of them valued their lives. It was a good thing they all knew better; Jace could definitely take care of himself. Always generous, Jace allowed that he being Nephilim might add, in however small a way, to his untouchability, though it certainly wouldn't save him when he got into a sticky situation. No, that was all on Jace, and he _liked_ his situations sticky.

Taki's proved to be a goldmine of benign information. After a talk with the cook, Jace knew that Madame Dorothea, _Seer and Prophetess_, was not a real half-demon witch at all, but a mundie Hedgewitch. The most valuable thing he got from his visit was a free milkshake from Kaelie, the pretty Downworlder waitress who made no effort to hide the appreciative heat in her eyes whenever she came by to check on him. Sorry, Kaelie, thought Jace. He just wasn't feeling an entanglement at the moment.

After he had finished his shake, which was orange flavored, Jace thanked the cook and Kaelie and left. He couldn't suppress a sigh when he stepped out into the mid-morning air. He was back where he started on the Clary-mystery front, which wasn't anywhere at all. He really couldn't wait until she got up.

Knowing Hodge would probably kill him for leaving without cleaning the foyer first, Jace began the walk back to Institute resigned to wasting his formidable demon fighting abilities on scrubbing Mayrse's carpets for the rest of the day and, unfortunately, probably the next too. Jace assuaged himself by thinking the scrubbing would at least keep him busy and away from the infirmary for at least a day.


	6. Sleeping Beauty and Home

Jace lay still on his bed; normally, he slept kind of like a cat, lightly, and when- or where-ever necessary, but for the past two days he was having trouble getting even the smallest amount of sleep. Of course, no one knew he wasn't sleeping well. He had been faithfully pretending he was asleep, just in case he was needed. Weakness wasn't something Jace Wayland personally believed in and he certainly wasn't going to let Hodge or Isabelle worry over him.

Jace shuddered. Isabelle would probably try to make him soup. He'd rather fight a Greater Demon than eat anything, including (or maybe specifically) soup, made by his adoptive sister, though he did have a great time making fun of her awesomely bad attempts at cooking.

Jace supposed Isabelle's cooking wasn't all _evil: _it gave him a rock-hard excuse to eat out. Hodge usually tied to scare Jace and Isabelle away from take-out by telling them it would ruin their figure's, which was something he knew they were both particular about, but that philosophy went right out the window when Hodge found out Isabelle was making them something to eat. His sister should really stick to killing things… she was really good at that.

Jace thought about his best friends for a moment. They both, like Jace, were ready for Clary to wake up, but unlike Jace, they wanted her out of the Institute as soon as she told Hodge everything she knew. Though Alec had let the thing about Clary go, Jace still caught a lot of sulking looks and brooding glances. Jace was just trying to avoid Isabelle altogether; when she wasn't checking on Clary, she was driving him insane.

Clary….The past few days of forcing himself to stay away from the infirmary had been excruciating for Jace. He almost couldn't wait to find out how well _Operation Clary is Just a Girl_ would work whenever Clary decided to wake up. Not.

It had to be around two in the afternoon and Jace wondered why either Alec or Isabelle hasn't barged through his door and demanded that he got up. He imagined Isabelle pouting in the infirmary and manicuring her nails, while he envisioned Alec harassing Hodge about something. Maybe a book, but you never knew with Alec. He could be just hovering in a corner like an overgrown bat, breathing poor Hodge's neck.

Not inclined to rescue his tutor from his possible predicament, Jace stretched out, arching his body like a cat. He was going to try not to let boredom and the anticipation of Clary's awakening drive him utterly around the bend today.

Jace threw on a t-shirt and some jeans and walked barefoot, he didn't really like shoes, to the music room. The music would soothe him and keep him away from the infirmary.

As soon as he walked through the door, he felt calmer. He had always liked making music, even when it was compulsory and not voluntary. He strode silently past the harp in the center of the floor and settled himself in front of his favorite instrument. He opened the lid and slid onto the stool that sat in front of the piano. He didn't bother with breaking out the sheets of music; he knew all of the stuff in the Institute by heart, and a few other pieces besides.

He sat for a moment with his arced fingers lifted in the air before bringing them down onto the keys, drowning himself in the sound of Etude in E Major.

When he was young, his father would tutor his endlessly in many things, music included. He could remember getting his fingers rapped with a cane more than once for missing a note while playing the piano. Jace reflected for a moment that his father, who never had need of a cane, probably kept the thing solely to disciple Jace with it.

Jace's decade of merciless tutoring paid off though. When he moved to the Institute, he could play the piano, not to mention several other instruments, flawlessly while Alec was still learning his notes. And he wasn't even going to get started on how much more advanced he was than his older adoptive brother when he relocated to the Institute, and even now. The differences had made Jace feel even more out of place, insecure, and at the same time weirdly, fiercely proud; he had hoped his father would have been proud, too.

One day not too long after coming to live in New York, Alec had sneaked up on Jace while he was playing the piano, causing Jace to hit a wrong key. For a moment, all Jace could do was brace himself for a hard rap across his knuckles.

The rap never came, because his father was dead. Jace had been confused: sad and oddly…_liberated_. Ignoring Alec, Jace had continued playing the same song, but what he was playing bore little resemblance to what he had been playing before. He added his own flourishes and embellishment until he was called away to dinner by Mayrse. It was one of his favorite memories. Looking back, Jace figured he had probably scared poor sensitive Alec to death, wildly banging on the keys like he did, but he also knew that when he first moved in the whole Lightwood family was slightly cautious of him. They didn't really know how to react to him, Jace supposed.

A shiver ran up Jace's neck; someone was watching him. Thinking maybe his reminiscing about times past had somehow brought Alec here to bother him, Jace turned swiftly around. Go back and bother Hodge, he thought. However, the words stuck in his throat. Alec would have knocked (he had stopped sneaking up on Jace a long time ago because he didn't like Jace's reflexes: he got a fist to the gut several times) by now and Isabelle would have barged in, picked up the cymbals, and banged them behind his head.

Jace searched the shadows of the large room. He couldn't see a damned thing. "Alec? Is that you?"

Jace was hugely surprised when he heard a voice say, "It's not Alec. It's me. Clary." She stepped into the room. She looked…tired. How could anyone be tired after sleeping for three days? Maybe she just felt like crap. Yeah, Jace conceded to himself, that was probably it. But damn, she was pretty. He didn't know why Isabelle thought a girl had to layer on makeup and stuff herself into clothes half her size to look good. Clary was doing just fine, and she was dead to the world for three whole days.

He dragged his hands off the keys, enjoying the discordant sound, and stood up. "Our very own Sleeping Beauty. Who finally kissed you awake?" Isabelle would eat poison before doing that, and he knew Alec would do just the equivalent: eat Isabelle's cooking.

"Nobody. I woke up alone." What? Jace momentarily thought about wringing Isabelle's skinny neck. She was probably away doing something dumb when Clary woke up, like painting her nails. Or cooking. God save them.

"Was there anyone with you?"

"Isabelle, but she went off to get someone—Hodge, I think. She told me to wait, but—"

Aha, Jace thought. That's why Clary was sneaking up on people in strange places. She didn't listen. He should have known. She was lucky she didn't offend Church on her way here; she would never have made it otherwise.

"I should have warned her about your habit about never doing what you're told." Still standing by the piano, Jace narrowed his eyes, trying to see Clary better. Her hair was wet, darkened to titian, her skin shone bright in clean, a beacon in the darkness, but he couldn't see her eyes in the darkness shadowing them. He could see, however, what she was wearing: jeans that had to have been at least a foot too long when not rolled up like she had them, and a low-_low_ cut red spaghetti-strapped tank-top that hugged her body to perfection. Though Jace like the shirt, he didn't think the look was for her: she looked like a little girl playing dress up in her older, sluttier sister's clothes. Which meant, of course, the clothes came from Isabelle.

"Are those Isabelle's clothes? They look ridiculous on you." Belatedly, Jace wondered if she would be offended. Then he reminded himself that he did not care, and that in fact, it was the perfect thing to say. _Operation Clary is Just a Girl_ takes its first steps into action.

"I could point out that _you_ burned my clothes." The defamatory note in her voice when she said 'you' made Jace want to grin and pat himself on the back.

"It was purely precautionary," he said as he shut the piano lid. "Come on, I'll take you to Hodge."

Jace walked over to the door where Clary was standing looking very uncertain. He felt a surge of compassion; waking up in a strange place only to find that Isabelle Lightwood was your caretaker would be awful, Jace mused. Ever the gentleman, he motioned for her to precede him through the door, where she waited for him to follow.

After closing the music room door, Jace turned on his heel and began walking in the direction of the library, where Hodge usually was at this time of the day. Out of the corner of his eye, he observed Clary as she observed the Institute; the long corridor filled with empty rooms. The sculptures carved into the ceiling high above them.

"Why does this place have so many bedrooms? I thought it was a research institute."

He couldn't believe she had grown up a mundie. What type of Shadowhunter would let their kid grow up _not_ knowing what the Institute was? He wondered what Clary's parents were running from.

"This is the residential wing. We're pledged to offer safety and lodging to any Shadowhunter who requests it. We can house up to two hundred people here." Jeez, he sounded like a tour guide.

"But most of these rooms are empty." Well, at least she was astute, Jace thought. She could definitely see the obvious.

"People come and go. Nobody stays for long. Usually it's just us—Alec, Isabelle, Max, their parents—and me and Hodge."

"Max?" Jace couldn't wait for Max to get back to the Institute. Most people said they didn't like kids, but Jace loved having Max around.

"You met the beauteous Isabelle? Alec is her elder brother. Max is the youngest, but he's overseas with his parents."

"On vacation?"

"Not exactly." How to explain this? "You can think of them as—as foreign diplomats, and of this as an embassy, of sorts. Right now they're in the Shadowhunter home country, working out some very delicate peace negotiations. They brought Max with them because he's so young." There, that was a solid, mundane-understandable analogy.

"Shadowhunter home country? What's it called?"

Jace thought about his peoples beautiful homeland. "Idris," was all he said. It would be impossible for him to describe it properly to someone who had never been there.

"I've never heard of it."

Jace's only thought was _well_, _duh._ It's not like the Clave advertises its secret home country. Jace could just envision the tourism commercials; _Visit Idris today! Blue skies and rolling green fields make the perfect backdrop for the Ward Towers of this completely Demon and Downworlder free country! Book your flight and tour now!_ Poor Clary. Jace couldn't imagine growing up as a mundane.

"You wouldn't have. Mundanes don't know about it. There are wardings—protective spells—up all over the borders. If you tried to cross into Idris, you'd simply find yourself transported instantly from one border to the next. You'd never know what happened."

"So it's not on any maps?" She asked. He was enjoying watching her face as she tried to wrap her limited mundie brain around what he was telling her.

"Not mundie ones. For our purposes you can consider it a small country between Germany and France."

"But there isn't anything between Germany and France. Except Switzerland." _A game show bell dinged in Jace's head. Ten points for Clary!_ The girl knew her trivia.

"Precisely."

"I take it you've been there. To Idris, I mean."

A rush of bittersweet, but mostly bitter, memories flooded through his mind: the manor, him, and his father. "I grew up there." Suddenly, Jace wasn't having so much fun anymore; time for a change of subject before the conversation got too personal. Aside from superficial stuff, Jace didn't like talking about himself. "Most of us do. There are, of course, Shadowhunters all over the world. We have to be everywhere, because demonic activity is everywhere. But to a Shadowhunter, Idris is always 'home'."

"Like Mecca or Jerusalem. So most of you are brought up there, and then you grow up—," It didn't look like the girl could take a hint.

"We're sent where we're needed," he interrupted. "And there are a few, like Isabelle and Alec, who grow up away from the home country because that's where their parents are. With all the resources of the Institute here, with Hodge's training—," He caught sight of the heavy wooden doors of the library. They made it. He was saved. "This is the library." As he got closer, he spied Church, curled up right in front of them like a sentry.

Not wanting to put his face anywhere near the cat, who was still sore from the breakfast Jace had fed him a few days before, he petted the cat with his foot, ready to jerk it back if the cat chose to try and claw him. "Hey, Church." Jace watched as the cat closed its eyes and arched up in to his foot; maybe now the vindictive feline would forgive him.

"Wait. Alec and Isabelle and Max—they're the only Shadowhunters your age that you know, that you spend time with?" Jace, who thought that the conversation was over, was further irritated by her comment. He needed no one's pity.

He lifted his foot away from Church and bit out a 'yes'.

"That must get kind of lonely."

Jace, done with talking about his emotional needs, opened the door to the library and went inside, not bothering to hold it open for her. She could follow. "I have everything I need."

If someone had asked Jace a week before if he had everything he needed, they would have received a traditional Jace-fashion comment along the lines of, "I have everything but a bag of chips and a tall, blonde bikini model because the store was out of both when I went shopping. Now go get bent." He really thought he did have everything that he wanted.

Now, if someone asked him the same question, he wouldn't be able to answer, because now he knew two things. One, that something was indeed missing from his life, and two, he would never allow himself to have what was missing.


	7. The Alec SmackDown

**Authors Note: Whew, long chapter. Its the longest one I have done so far. Reward me! LoL. S****orry it has taken me so long to update. Classes have been keeping me majorly busy. The usual disclaimer: I am not Cassandra Clare. Not copyright infringement intended. yada yada yada. Please feel free to review. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. The happier I am, the faster I write. **

**Anyways, I hope you all enjoy. Hope it isnt getting repetitive. I know that everything is like straight out of the book. I'm sorry :(**

**On this chapter, I wasnt sure if I wanted to title it 'Jace Wayland, Resident Pedophile' or 'Alec SmackDown' so I closed my eyes and picked one. Which one do you like better?**

Jace took in his surroundings as Clary followed him noisily through the library door. He had to catch himself from saying something about how loudly she moved; he knew it wasn't her fault. Sometimes he forgot how very quiet his kind were, and he more than most.

The cozy circular room that was the library held shelves upon shelves of dusty, ancient books, ladders included. It, along with the music room, training room, and the kitchen were Jace's favorite rooms in the Institute. Or at least the kitchen _used_ to be one of his favorites until Isabelle invaded it. Jace wondered what the kitchen would say to Isabelle if it could talk. It would probably sob, '_How could you be so c-c-cruel?'. _Or it might be totally incapable of any words at all. That's certainly how Jace felt whenever Isabelle tried to corral him into a corner to sample some of her poison. That and a mild feeling of horror. Give him hordes of demons any day.

Mentally shaking thoughts about bad cooking away, Jace brought himself back to the library. Hodge sat at his desk in the middle of the room and, ah, Alec was sitting in Jace's favorite chair by the fireplace. He wondered if Alec had been hanging around Hodge since their argument, just waiting for Clary to wake up. Right then, Alec was trying to lounge nonchalantly, like he had certainly seen Jace do every minute of the day, but it wasn't working, though. Instead, he looked slightly constipated.

Jace remembered thinking earlier that Alec was probably pestering Hodge. At least he knew his partner well, Jace thought resignedly. He momentarily regretted not asking Clary if Isabelle was doing her nails when she woke up.

A breeze of air fluttered on his face as Clary passed him, walking deeper into the room. He couldn't see her face as she took in the library, but that didn't stop him from looking at her. She was beautiful in a bright and pure way that Jace had never seen before and it almost hurt him to look at her. If it did hurt, however, he doubted he would be able to stop. Jace prided himself on his appreciation for beautiful things.

A flash of blue caught his eye. He dragged his gaze from Clary and moved them to…Alec's glowering eyes. Well, at least they were all starting things off right, thought Jace acidly.

Hodges voice brought his eyes back to the center of the room. "A book lover, I see. You didn't tell me that, Jace." Jace smiled; he should have known that Hodge would open the conversation with something like that. He was ridiculously proud of his dusty books.

Jace followed the path Clary had taken to the desk and laughed. "We haven't done much talking during our short acquaintance. I'm afraid our reading habits didn't come up." He saw Alec twitch in the chair by the fireplace. Alec was going to have to get over this little thing of his, Jace thought. He was being absurd.

Then Clary turned around and glared at him, too. Jace was really getting tired of the glaring. Everyone needed to go get laid or acquire a decent sense of humor. Preferably both, if at all possible.

She turned back to Hodge and said, "How can you tell? That I like books, I mean."

Hodge replied with, "The look on your face when you walked in. Somehow, I doubt you were that impressed by _me_," as he rose. Jace felt a grin tug at the corners of his mouth. Though his tutor was definitely interesting to look at, he wasn't the type of man to impress teenage girls. That was Jace's area of expertise.

Jace saw Clary suck in a breath. What was wrong with her? Absurdly, he wondered for a minute if she _was_ impressed by his old, Rupert Giles-like tutor.

"This is Hugo," Hodge explained. Oh, she had been freaked by the bird. Sometimes, Jace didn't know who was worse, Church or that damn bird. Probably Church, though. At least that bird didn't have free access to the whole Institute like that cat did. "Hugo is a raven, and, as such, he knows many things. I, meanwhile, am Hodge Starkweather, a professor of history, and, as such, I do not know nearly enough."

Yeah, thought Jace, if by knowing many things meant that Hugo knew exactly when to crap all over the book Jace was reading, then sure, the bird was intelligent.

He heard Clary laugh and couldn't help but stare. He watched as she extended her hand to Hodge and introduced herself. "Clary Fray." Why didn't he get such a cordial introduction? His had been more along the lines of, 'Why are you following me? Go away. I'm calling the police.'

"Honored to make your acquaintance." Hodge certainly knew how to get to the point in a way that didn't offend anyone. He was probably demonstrating for Jace, who didn't care who he pissed off when he wanted something. "I would be honored to make the acquaintance of anyone who could kill a Ravener with her bare hands." In fact, so would Jace, but he wouldn't be thinking about honor if the bare-handed killer was female. He would be thinking about how hot it was.

Clary blushed and looked mildly uncomfortable. "It wasn't my bare hands. It was Jace's—well, I don't remember what it was called, but—"

"She means my Sensor," Jace supplied. "She shoved it down the thing's throat. The runes must have choked it. I guess I'll need another one. I should have mentioned that." That, like Clary's reading habits, was one of the things Jace had forgotten to tell Hodge.

"There are several extra in the weapons room," Hodge said, sparing Jace the briefest of glances before he turned back to Clary. "That was quick thinking. What gave you the idea of using the Sensor as a weapon?" Jace figured that the shove-age had less to do with an actual plan and more to do with Clary not wanting to die, but before she could enlighten them, Alec decided to enter the conversation. Jace wondered how he had been keeping his mouth shut for the past few minutes.

"I can't believe you buy that story, Hodge." Jace fought the urge to roll his eyes. He didn't want to fight with Alec.

"I'm not sure what you mean, Alec." Oh, God. Hodge was going to make Alec spell it out for them all. "Are you suggesting that she didn't kill that demon after all?" Jace wondered what kind of conspiracy theory Alec had worked up to discredit Clary.

"Of course she didn't. Look at her—she's a mundie, Hodge, and a little kid, at that. There's no way she took on a Ravener." Jace couldn't help but to look at Clary. She did kind of look like a child. He supposed he should feel like a pedophile right about now, but he couldn't summon up the proper volition.

Clary wasted no time in defending herself. "I'm not a little kid. I'm sixteen years old—well, I will be on Sunday." Jace made a mental note to remember that.

Ever the advocate for logical, unbiased thinking, Hodge confronted Alec with that bit of information. "The same age as Isabelle. Would you call her a child?" Jace wanted to snort. He didn't think Isabelle had been a child for a long time.

Alec, clearly thinking on a different level than Jace, said, "Isabelle hails from one of the greatest Sahdowhunter dynasties in history. This girl, on the other hand, hails from New Jersey."

God, Alec was stuffy. Jace suspected that that, combined with his 'hailing from one of the greatest Shadowhunter dynasties in history' would end up earning him a shiny title and lofty status in the Clave one day.

Clary, upon hearing what Alec said, had turned a remarkable shade of red. He wondered if she would hit Alec. She certainly looked like she would. He would have to move fast if she did, though. Alec had a few certain—prejudices against Clary, it seemed.

"I'm from Brooklyn! And so what? I just killed a demon in my own house, and you're going to be a dickhead about it because I'm not some spoiled-rotten rich brat like you and your sister?" Jace wished he had a camera to document how Alec's mouth fell open and his eyed bugged out. He doubted anyone had ever talked to Alec like that before. Jace thought it was good for him; a valuable character building exercise, if you will.

Alec, still in shock, said, "_What_ did you call me?"

Jace laughed. He just couldn't hold it in anymore. Though Jace would have loved to let Clary repeat herself, he figured Alec might do her bodily harm if she did. Quickly he diverted attention from Clary to himself. "She has a point, Alec. It's those bridge-and-tunnel demons you really have to watch out for—"

Alec bounded to his feet and exclaimed, "It's not _funny_, Jace. Are you just going to let her stand there and call me names?"

Poor Alec. He must still be in shock from Clary's assault to think that Jace would defend his asinine, out of line behavior. "Yes," Jace said. "It'll do you good—try to think of it as endurance training."

Alec narrowed his eyes at him and said, "We may be _parabatai_, but your flippancy is wearing on my patience."

Alec was pissing him off. Plus, he should know by now that Jace just really didn't give a damn. Why was Alec fighting this so hard?

"And you obstinacy is wearing on mine. When I found her, she was lying on the floor in a pool of blood with a demon practically on top of her. I watched as it vanished. If she didn't kill it, who did?"

"Raveners are stupid. Maybe it got itself in the neck with its stinger. It's happened before—"

You've got to be kidding. Really? "Now you're suggesting it committed suicide?"

Alec, backed into a corner by his own words, finally got to the point he was trying to make. "It isn't right for her to be here. Mundies aren't allowed in the Institute, and there are good reasons for that. If anyone knew about this, we could be reported to the Clave."

Hodge chose this point to reenter the conversation, saving Alec from the scathing remark Jace was going to make. "That's not entirely true. The Law does allow us to offer sanctuary to mundanes in certain circumstances. A Ravener has already attacked Clary's mother—she could well have been next."

Jace saw the high color leave Clary's face and he wanted to move closer to her and touch her hand or shoulder, but—_Operation_ _Clary is Just a Girl_.

Not yet ready to concede defeat, Alec changed tactics. "Raveners are search-and-destroy machines. They act under orders from warlocks or powerful demon lords. Now, what interest would a warlock or a demon lord have in an ordinary mundane household?" He asked Hodge, before turning hateful eyes on Clary. Jace had never seen Alec react to a human like this before. "Any thoughts?"

"It must have been a mistake." Jace, who was a staunch Clary supporter in this battle, knew that this couldn't be true. Clary's house had been the target; there was just no other option.

Alec voiced the general idea of his thoughts. "Demons don't make those kind of mistakes. If they went after your mother, there must have been a reason. If she were innocent—". Alec should know better than to go provoking a girl who was known to shove large objects down throats.

"What do you mean innocent?" Clary had gone utterly still, fixing Alec with a look that was both calm and dangerous at the same time. Jace would know: he had that look down excellently. And at the moment, if a fight broke out, Jace would have to bet not on his best friend being the victor, but on the tiny girl in front of him. Though he knew nothing good would come of an Alec Smack-down, Jace would pay money to see it.

Alec, finally seeming to have regained his senses, looked ready to do some major backpedaling. "I—"

Sensing danger brewing, Hodge said kindly, "What he means is that it is extremely unusual for a powerful demon, the kind that might command a host of lesser demons, to interest himself in the affairs of human beings. No mundane may summon a demon—they lack that power—but there have been some, desperate and foolish, who have found a witch or warlock to do it for them."

"My mother doesn't know any warlocks. She doesn't believe in magic." She paused before adding, "Madame Dorothea—she lives downstairs—she's a witch. Maybe the demons were after her and got my mom by mistake?"

Hodge looked extremely surprised. Probably wondering why Jace hadn't mentioned the 'witch' that lived in the same building as Clary, and also why the 'witch', if she was in fact one, had let Clary discoverer her identity. Downworlders usually kept their true identities secret from the mundane world, for obvious reasons. "A witch lives downstairs from you?"

Choosing to elaborate, Jace said, "She's a hedge-witch—a fake. I already looked into it. There's no reason for any warlock to be interested in her unless he's in the market for nonfunctional crystal balls."

"And we're back where we began," Hodge said as he petted the huge bird on his shoulder, mirroring Jace's thoughts from a few days ago. "It seems the time has come to notify the Clave."

This took Jace by surprise. "No! We can't—"

"It made sense to keep Clary's presence here a secret while we were not sure she would recover, but now she has, and she is the first mundane to pass through the doors of the Institute in over a hundred years. You know the rules about mundane knowledge of Shadowhunters, Jace. The Clave must be informed." Jace knew all too well the Law. Mundanes could not know of the Shadow World; if they knew that monsters existed, the chaos would become uncontrollable. Clary would be sworn to secrecy, at the very least. At the most, however, the Clave could have a warlock make her forget she had ever discovered the Shadow World and blind her to Sight so she would not see it again. This, Jace knew, could not be, because Clary was not mundane.

"Absolutely," Alec was all too eager for this option to never see Clary again. "I could get a message to my father—"

Jace couldn't let this plan go any further. He had to speak up and explain. This was going to _suck_. "She's not a mundane," he said, looking down into his lap. He almost didn't want anyone to hear him.

Of course, Jace couldn't be so lucky. Hodge's eyebrows rose so far into his hairline that Jace feared they were lost forever. Alec choked on his words so badly that Jace contemplated administering the Heimlich, and poor Clary just looked lost and confused.

"But I am," she told him.

"No, you aren't."He met her eyes before turning to Hodge, and took a small gulp of air to steady himself. He hadn't been this nervous in years. He would be lucky if he wasn't in a jail cell in the City of Bones by nightfall. "That night—there were Du'sien demons. Dressed like police officers. We had to get past them. Clary was too weak to run, and there wasn't time to hide—she would have died. So I used my stele—put a _mendelin_ rune on the inside of her arm." Jace could see Hodge's face turning purple, while Alec's had lost all color. How could he explain that Marking her had been the better—hell, the _only _option? It was either Mark her, knowing that she had a chance, however small, or so he had believed, of becoming a Forsaken, or he could have done nothing, and then she would have died for sure. "I thought—"

Before he could finish, Hodge exploded. He had never seen Hodge that color before and he suspected it probably boded somewhat ill for him. "Are you out of your _mind_?" He asked as he hit the desk with the hand on his uninjured arm. "You know what the Law says about placing Marks on mundane! You—you of all people ought to know better!"

Instead of feeling chastised, Jace wanted to snarl at his teacher that it was _because_ he knew better that he did it, that he had suspected that Clary was at least part Shadowhunter. "But it worked," Jace ground out, resisting the urge to add '_obviously_'. "Clary, show them your arm."

Clary looked questioningly at him, confused, before she held out her arm for them all to inspect. The Mark was only barely visible, a ghost on her slender and pale arm.

"See, it's almost gone." This conversation was starting to exhaust Jace. "It didn't hurt her at all," he said, which was probably a lie, but he said it in reference to the bigger Clary-is-still-Clary picture. The first Mark was always supposed to be painful because one hadn't had time to get used to the burn yet, and then there were the dreams. Jace wouldn't know because he was trained to feel pain differently than others. Like as in not at all.

Jace had been conditioned from birth to be the perfect warrior. He had learned how to block out pain the old-fashioned way, the hard way, because a perfect Shadowhunter had no weaknesses, pain included. When he was injured, pain was carefully, meticulously controlled until an _iratze_ could be applied. This, though combined with many others, was part of the reason why Jace received his first Mark at such a young age. The dreams had been horrible, were still horrible.

Jace hadn't known until his father died and he had moved to New York that he was different. But he wasn't complaining. He was trained to be a killing machine. So what? He was good at it and he loved being a Shadowhunter. Having no weaknesses didn't make him a better Shadowhunter; it made him the best.

Hodge's voice brought him back down to earth. "That's not the point, he said, voice wavering with anger. "You could have turned her into a Forsaken."

Like Jace didn't know that, hadn't thought of the repercussions. Before he could defend himself, Alec jumped into the let's-verbally-abuse-Jace party; he looked like Jace had betrayed him somehow. "I can't believe you, Jace. Only Shadowhunters can receive Covenant Marks—they _kill _mundanes—"

Jesus, where had Alec _been_ for the last few minutes of this conversation? Jace hated repeating himself. "She's not a mundane. Haven't you been listening? It explains why she could see us. She must have Clave blood.

Jace saw a slight movement out of the corner of her arm: Clary removing her arm from the center of attention. "But I don't," she said. "I couldn't."

Still looking into his lap, Jace said, "You must. If you hadn't, that Mark I made on your arm…,"and trailed off. How could he explain to her, in a kind way, of course, that if she hadn't had Clave blood she would have turned into an evil, mindless, very stupid and very smelly killing machine? Kind of like Jace, only not charming and decidedly less attractive. He would have to plead 'no contest' on the smell issue, though. There were times when he got back to the Institute when he didn't smell too pretty at _all_.

Sensing Jace's intent, Hodge intervened. "That's enough Jace. There's no need for you to frighten her further."

Jace leveled a look at his tutor. Would he really deliberately try to frighten a girl who had almost been killed by something that she didn't know existed, something that kidnapped, maybe even killed, her mother?

Well, Jace thought, he might do it if he felt an aversion to the person, like the mundane that hung out with Clary. Jace suspected the skinny mundie must be going insane without her.

"But I was right, wasn't I? It explains what happened to her mother, too. If she was a Shadowhunter in exile, she might well have Downworld enemies."

Clary was in denial. "My mother wasn't a Shadowhunter!" She said it with such force, such finality, that Jace suspected she would be insulting him next if he chose to pursue the subject. His thoughts turned instead to her father; Clary hadn't said her father couldn't be a Shadowhunter.

"Your father, then. What about him?"

A strange look passed across Clary's face. When she met his gaze, her eyes were steely and devoid of any emotion. Like a stone. There was something terribly familiar about it. "He died. Before I was born."

Jace couldn't stop himself from flinching. He hoped no one noticed. It seemed he and Clary had more in common than he thought. One parent dead before you were even born and another killed, or possibly, in Clary's case. Even while reflecting on this horrible similarity between them, Jace couldn't help but admire Clary. She was strong, at least emotionally. Isabelle would have started bawling like forever ago by now. Isabelle wore her emotions proudly on her sleeve and never understood why Jace saw them as a weakness, no matter how many times he lectured her on how an opponent could take what you cared about and twist it against you.

Suddenly, Jace remembered why the look in Clary's eyes a moment before had been so familiar to him: he saw it every time he looked in the mirror.

For a moment, Jace couldn't speak, but apparently Alec had no qualms in doing so. Jace couldn't blame him, though, because Alec didn't know what it was like to be parentless. "If her father were a Shadowhunter, and her mother a mundane—well, we all know it's against the Law to marry a mundie. Maybe they were in hiding."

"My mother would have told me," Clary said firmly, but the steel behind her eyes had grown softer, a little far away. She wasn't telling them something.

"Not necessarily. We all have secrets." Jace should know. He so many things he never tell anyone.

Clary's face brightened suddenly. "Luke, our friend. He would know." However, as quickly as it came, the brightness faded and her eyes became slightly frenzied. "It's been three days—he must be frantic, she told Hodge. "Can I call him? Is there a phone?" Then she rounded on Jace, her green eyes huge and pleading. "Please."

How could he say no? But one just didn't make calls from the Institute's phone to a mundane. You had to ask and have an iron-clad reason. Calling out for pizza, Jace had discovered long ago, was not an iron-clad reason. Jace looked at Hodge for permission, though he was pretty sure Hodge wouldn't be capable of saying no to those eyes either.

Sure enough, Hodge nodded and gestured Clary to the shiny vintage phone behind him. Wasting no time, Clary brought the telephone to her ear and spun the number into the rotary dial, the silver disk flashing in the light after every turn.

She waited a few seconds, almost bouncing on her toes, before Jace heard, "Luke!" That single word carried mountains of relief and affection. Some friend of the family. He wondered if Luke was her mother's boyfriend. "It's me. It's Clary."

A pause, then she said, "I'm fine. I'm sorry I didn't call you before. Luke, my mom—"

She broke off. Her face, so excited to be finally speaking to 'Luke', fell. "Then you haven't heard from her." It wasn't a question, but a flat, hopeless statement. "What did the police say?" There she goes again, babbling about the police.

Another pause. "I'm in the city. I don't know where exactly. With some friends. My wallet's gone, though. If you've got some cash, I could take a cab to your place—"

Aw, she thought of them as friends. He was wondering where her wallet had gone off to (Isabelle was probably rifling through it that very moment) when he heard her making plans to leave the Institute. She couldn't leave yet: she could still be in danger. What was she thinking?

Before he could protest, her face screwed up and she almost dropped the phone. "What?" she demanded.

"We could call—," she began, only to seemingly be cut off again.

Then she began pleading, "But I don't want to stay here. I don't know these people. You—"

So much for them being friends. Jace couldn't hold it against her though. Not when she looked like her whole world was coming down around her ears. Hell, her world _was_ coming down around her ears. He watched, disturbed, as her eyes filled with tears. She hadn't cried when she admitted her father was dead. She hadn't cried when the Ravener attacked her. She hadn't cried when she found out her mother was missing, possibly dead. She hadn't cried when she woke up in a strange place with strange people who told her strange things.

He wondered what Luke was telling her. He should be ashamed of himself.

"I'm sorry, she said. What could she possibly be apologizing for? "It's just—"

Jace thought Luke could use a few tutorials on courtesy. He didn't think Clary had finished a sentence the whole time she had been talking to him.

This time, however, it appeared that Luke was done interrupting Clary. She lowered the phone and stared at it for a moment, eyes haunted, before clumsily dialing again. _The bastard hung up on her? _No one could ever call Jace heartless again.

Suddenly, she brought the phone down onto the base, quite reminiscent of how she threw her phone to the pavement outside the poetry reading the night of her attack. She sure was violent for being so damn tiny.

Jace, who had moved over beside Alec's chair while she was talking to show Alec that he hadn't forgotten about him, watched her standing in front of them. Her back was ramrod straight and her head held high, but her hands were shaking and her eyes, fixed somewhere on Hodge's desk, gleamed.

"I take it he wasn't happy to hear from you?" Jace asked her, carefully.

Clary just kept staring. Was she going to go full-blown catatonic on them? Geez, he'd rather she would just cry.

"I think I'd like to have a talk with Clary," Hodge said. Jace settled himself against the wall and the chair. He wasn't going anywhere. Talk on, Hodge.

Hodge narrowed his eyes at Jace, seemingly reading his mind. "Alone," he added.

Alec's butt left the chair in a millisecond. Jace supposed he was eager to leave Clary's company. "Fine. We'll leave you to it," he said, starting towards the door.

Jace looked at Alec, irritated.

Jace came away from the wall, ready to do battle. He wasn't sure what Hodge was going to talk to Clray about but he was sure she would need support. Besides, as far as he was concerned, he had a right to be here, a responsibility, even. "That's hardly fair. I'm the one who found her. I'm the one who saved her life!" Seeing that he hadn't swayed Hodge, he moved on to Clary. She would want him to stay. "You want me here, don't you?"

A muscle leapt in her jaw as she clamped it shut and she turned away.

Jace stiffened while Alec laughed. Obviously, she finally did something that Alec approved of.

Apparently still smarting from earlier, Alec told him, "Not everyone wants you all the time, Jace."

Of course, thought Jace. He would have to remember that. Besides, he had almost forgotten: Clary was just a girl. It didn't matter.

"Don't be ridiculous," was all he said, though. If it didn't matter, then why did it bother him that she didn't want him there? "Fine, then. We'll be in the weapons room." He didn't add the 'If anyone decides that they _do_ need my help'. That might give away the fact that he was disappointed.

He strode to the door, Alec following him. He wouldn't let himself look back.


	8. Ten Percent, His Ass!

**Sorry it took so long, guys. I've been seriously sick and hard put to keep up with school, let alone fanfiction. Well, hope you like, but it's nothing much. I like the ending the best, even if I used the F word. Sorry if it's too vulgar for some of you., but for Jace, it was right. Enjoy.**

Once out of the library, Jace and Alec headed for the armory. The metal walls, the selection of weapons, the smell—all combined to create the place where Jace felt most at home, aside from the greenhouse, where it smelled like Idris.

Once there, they each grabbed a new pair of boots. Shoes had a high turn-over rate in the fight against evil, therefore, Isabelle owned upwards of what had to be a million. Or two. Who ever knew with Isabelle?

"You know," Alec began, sounding thoughtful, "That girl might not be all that bad if she can resist the famous Jace Wayland."

Resist me, my ass, Jace thought. "_You know_..," began Jace, drawing out the words. "That girl might not be all too heterosexual if she can resist the famous me." Alec, whose face previously sported a smirk of satisfaction from rubbing Clary's apparent disinterest into Jace's nose, paled when Jace dropped the _H-_bomb and Jace was immediately contrite. He would have to play the idiot when it came to Alec and his…preferences. He was fine with that.

Wanting to lighten the mood, Jace said, "And since when am I famous? I mean, I knew it was coming, but so soon? It thought it would take a little longer…maybe a year or so more…"

"You wish," Alec muttered, facing the weapons that lined the interior of the room. He reached up and detached three seraph blades. Weapons also didn't last very long in the fight against evil. If Jace didn't visit the weapons room to replenish his supply of killing utensils at least once a day, someone asked if he was feeling sick.

Alec set the blades on the long, rectangular table that occupied the center of the room. Its surface was marred with polish, gouges from weapons, and, in a few instances, blood.

It seemed like Alec planned on taking them all on a hunt, leaving Clary in the Institute by herself. His _parabatai_ was nothing if not consistent. Alec was allergic to change.

Speaking of consistency, where was Izzy? She was usually bothering them by now. Clary was awake, so she wouldn't be in the infirmary; her room was too small, and so stuffed to bursting with clothes, shoes, and _glittery things_ (Jace shivered) to possibly contain her for any extended length of time; that only left—

The kitchen.

Jace shivered again.

Yes, suddenly, leaving the Institute was a very pleasing option, whether Clary got left behind or not. Besides, she apparently didn't want his company anyways. Plus, he wasn't supposed to care anyways. She was totally off limits. Jace wished he could mentally apply a sharpie message to her forehead: **NOTICE: OFF LIMITS**. **NO JACE WAYLANDS ALLOWED.** He momentarily debated the merits of smacking a glamour on Clary's ungrateful person and wondering just how large of a lecture Hodge would punish him with, when a light caught his eye, bringing him back to the present.

The long, cylindrical wands that were inactivated seraph blades glowed muted silver on the table's surface in the dimly lit armory. They were named after angels, and in battle, a Shadowhunter called the name of the angel the blade was named after to activate the blade and harness the power of Heaven.

"Do you mind what we name these?" Alec asked. It seemed like Alec was totally going to disregard his technically calling Jace a liar not ten minutes before in the library.

"Name away," Jace told him.

They bent their heads over the blades, Jace watching as Alec named them. Alec touched the first blade with his hand. "Sanvi." He then moved on the next two, touching a blade while naming it. Sansavi. Semangelaf."

Jace grinned at the names, recalling the story from his childhood.

Before God gifted Adam with Eve, Adam was married to Lilith, who was made from filth. Her sexual appetites were not the same as the more pious Adam. They disagreed on how they should have sex: she wanted to be an equal, and sometimes even wanted to be on top. Adam was disgusted by her suggestions and refused. Jace would have been ecstatic.

After Adam tried to take what he wanted from her (i.e. Rape), she left him and Eden. Legend says that she seduced an angel, Lucifer, and his demons. Her children became warlocks and witches and though the origin of the Fair Folk is hazy, some speculate that they are hers also.

Adam missed his wife and complained to God. God sent three angels, Sanvi, Sansanvi, and Semangelaf, to retrieve Lilith, but she wouldn't comply. To placate Adam, God made him a much meeker wife, named Eve, though Eve too wasn't perfect. (Apple, anyone?) Eve brought about the Fall of Eden and as punishment, God cursed them and their children with mortality.

Lilith, who left before the Fall, was not cursed with mortality. Instead, her children lived forever.

For some reason, Jace imagined Lilith looked like Isabelle. Izzy, he knew, could wreak havoc that would have the angels themselves scurrying for cover. And he doubted she would let herself be considered unequal to anyone, including Gods first man.

After remembering the story, Jace wondered how mundanes managed to make theology and the religion myth so damned _boring. _

Suddenly, Jace heard the door to the armory snap closed. He looked up and saw Clary. It looked like she needed him after all.

He knew it.

"Where's Hodge?"

"Writing to the Silent Brothers," she replied.

Alec tensed and tried not the shudder. "Ugh," was all he said, which surprised Jace, as it was the most civil thing he said in response to or in the presence of Clary yet. But then Alec probably sensed that Hodge notifying the Silent Brothers about Clary was the first step in getting her out of the Institute.

By now, Jace and Alec were both looking at Clary, who was standing uncertainly in the door way, looking apprehensively around. Her eyes fell on the table and she moved closer. "What are you doing?"

Jace moved over to make room for her beside the table, and then was irritated at himself for positioning her so close. "Putting the last touches on these," he told her, indicating the blades. "Sanvi, Sansanvi, and Semangelaf. They're seraph blades."

She examined them, her brow furrowed. "They don't look like knives. How did you make them? Magic?"

Alec looked personally affronted, like she had called him a very, very bad name. Again.

Jace just shook his head. She was such a mundane, even though she technically wasn't one. When Clary thought about magic, she probably envisioned broomsticks, Harry Potter, and Disney. Stuff like singing mice. Stuff that made Jace want to gag. "The funny thing about mundies is how obsessed with magic they are for a bunch of people who don't even know what the word means."

"I know what it means," she spat at him. Geez, she sure had a lot of venom stored up in her tiny body.

"No," he corrected, "You don't, you just think you do. Magic is a dark and elemental force, not just a lot of sparkly wands and crystal balls and talking goldfish.

"I never said it was a lot of talking goldfish, you—"

Jace cut her off with a carless wave of her had. He totally sure of what she was going to say, but he was pretty positive it would have something to do with telling him just where he could shove his sparkly wand, which Jace didn't have time for. She didn't understand what magic really was, hell-she didn't know it _existed_ before she met Jace, and the sooner she understood it, the better. How could he explain this in a way that her delicate little mundane brain could understand?

Aha. The rubber duckie was a universally known subject matter.

"Just because you call an electric eel a rubber duck doesn't make it a rubber duck, does it? And God help the poor bastard who decides they want to take a bath with the duckie."

Clary's gaze on him had turned somewhat clinically pitying. "You're driveling," she stated.

If he were another person, Jace suspected he would be deeply wounded by the matter-of-fact manner in which she dubbed him insane, but he wasn't ordinary. He was Jace Wayland and was therefore never deeply wounded by anything.

"I'm not."

Alec, who had been watching the whole exchange, now spoke, his eyes on Jace. "Yes, you are." He lowered his eyes back to the table, when Jace threw him, a mildly filthy look that said _thanks for nothing_ and a few choice expletives, and then spoke to Clary, again surprising Jace with his civility. He had thought earlier that he would have to pry the two away from each other to prevent major bloodshed. "Look, we don't do magic, okay? That's all you need to know about it."

Clary narrowed eyes sharply at Alec, the green glinting dangerously, but she didn't pursue the subject. Instead, she turned to Jace and dropped a bomb that almost made him do something ungraceful. Like dropping the seraph blade he was holding on his foot. "Hodge said I could go home."

Alec looked fit to start dancing around the room, something that Jace knew the giant stick he had shoved up his—pocket, would never allow. "_He said what?" _The last time Clary was home, she was attacked by a hulking, alligator like demon who wanted to eat her. Jace suspected Hodge hadn't said any such thing.

He suspected his face said just as much, because she quickly clarified. "To look through my mother's things." She paused, hesitant, and looked up into his eyes. "If you go with me."

"Jace," Alec began, under his breath, but Jace didn't really hear. He kept his eyes on Clary. He didn't know if accompanying her alone was such a good idea.

Probably sensing that Alec was going to try to persuade him from going, Clary stream rolled ahead. "If you really want to prove that my mom or dad was a Shadowhunter, we should look through my mom's things." She looked away from him. "What's left of them." The sadness in her eyes was enough to break his heart.

Wait. Heart? Jace had a heart? Surely not, he thought.

But he looked again into her eyes and knew he did. Ah, hell.

A crooked smile broke out across his face. "Down the rabbit hole," he said, confident that neither Alec nor Clary would catch his meaning. "Good idea. If we go right now we should have another three, maybe four hours of daylight." Jace grabbed the angel blades and stowed them away, as quick and smooth as a trained pick-pocket. Which he was. He pushed off from the table towards the door, Clary following.

This could prove very interesting.

He was halfway to the door when Alec spoke. "Do you want me to come with you?"

"No," he said. "That's all right. Clary and I can handle this on our own." Jace let himself out and held the door for Clary, then began walking toward the elevator. He didn't bother slowing his pace, even though he knew that she had a hard time keeping up. Her legs were much shorter than his. "Have you got your house keys?" He wondered if she lost them with her wallet. Plus, he felt he had reached his limit for busting doors for the week.

"Yeah," she answered.

"Good. Not that we couldn't break in, but we'd run a greater chance of disturbing any wards that might be up if we did." He might set them off with such a display of masculine strength.

"If you say so," she said as they hit the foyer in front of the elevator. She probably still associated magic with rubber duckies and a driveling Jace. He jabbed the 'down' button with his knuckle. "Jace?"

"How did you know I had Shadowhunter blood?" He wasn't expecting that. He had thought that she might ask him to take her by the kitchen before they left, or maybe a bathroom. "Was there someway you could tell?"

The elevator finally made its appearance, clanking and wailing. After letting them into the car, he said, "I guessed. It seemed like the most likely explanation." He was aiming for her to be impressed by his superior intellect, intuition, and reasoning skills.

"You guessed? You must have been pretty sure, considering you could have killed me."

He again jabbed a button, this time the one for the ground floor. "I was ninety percent sure." Which was pretty good, Jace thought. He had jumped off buildings for less.

"I see." Something about her tone was odd. Was she going to thank him for saving her life? Jace paused, suddenly hopeful, and thought that the more important question was _how_ she would thank him for saving her life?

Eager, though he knew he shouldn't be, he turned around.

And for the second time that week, she hit him.

To clarify, she _slapped_ him. This slap wasn't as hurried as the other; she had been half-out of her mind then. Now seemed she put all the force her tiny body could summon into this one. _She_ slapped him. He rocked back on his heels, moving with the blow. She slapped _him_. It stung, yes, but to Jace it was a mere annoyance more than anything. In the back of his mind, Jace wondered what Alec would do if he had seen: jump to Jace's aide, or applaud Clary? _She fucking slapped him_.

"What the hell was that for?" Which was the much edited version of what he initially wanted to ask her.

Her eyes blazed. "The other ten percent."

The other ten percent, his ass. If she knew him better, she would know that 90 percent was about as good as it got. Better, in fact. He usually acted first and asked questions later. Not meaning to be suggestive, but Jace was a do-er.

Half-serious ideas ran through his mind, one on the heels of another: him strangling Clary, him telling her how he usually handled such situations, him strangling Clary—maybe both.

Knowing he would never do either, Jace chose instead to withdraw himself from her company. Or at least withdraw himself as much as he could, given his predicament of escorting her around town for the day. Operation Clary was Just a Girl, be damned. Now it was Operation Pretend She Didn't Exist.


	9. Revelation

To date, the only female who actually had hit him was Isabelle, who frequently trained with him. And, well, she did have that penchant for throwing shoes at him when he remarked on her wardrobe. Or anything she could get her hands on in the kitchen when he insulted her cooking.

But Isabelle was different. She was his sister, really. She really didn't count as female.

And girls loved Jace; they were certainly more inclined to fall over themselves in an attempt to get him to notice them than they were inclined to hit him.

And then there was Clary, who had definitely had yet to fall over herself to get Jace to notice her. Noooo. She had hit him, Jace, after he saved her life. She was way out of line. She was infuriating.

And she was interesting. Unexpected. She had totally blind-sided him.

Unsure as to how he should be feeling about that, Jace was slouched against the elevator wall by the control panel, ignoring Clary, who he really had no idea what to do with.

When the doors creaked open, he exited the elevator and headed through the cathedral to the heavy wooden doors that separated the Institute from the world that lay beyond. Lost in thought, he let his feet carry him to the train that would take him and Clary to Brooklyn.

Born of long habit, he quickly assessed his surroundings: his eyes glanced across the graffiti splattered the interior of the train. It smelled like cat litter and old people: his eyes landed on a wispy looking elderly lady seated at one end of the train next to bags of Friskies and, indeed, cat litter. He also smelled pomegranate; this time his nose led him to Clary, who kept on sneaking quick, contrite glances at him. He listened to the train as it labored to pick up speed, and to Clary, who apparently still had to catch her breath from trying to keep up with him on their way to the train. He had forgotten how short her legs were. Feeling that making a study of the graffiti would best serve his mood, he began with the space directly across from him.

Ricky hearts Lilly.

Idiot mundanes.

He sensed Clary looking at him again, but this time she didn't avert her gaze like before.

Unable to resist temptation, he turned his head with the intention of saying something that would undoubtedly be incredibly stupid, like pointing out the graffiti. He stopped, though, when he looked into her face, which was, for the first time since he had met her, completely unguarded. The softness of her features took him completely unawares. She was studying him with the exquisite care one might devote to a delicate and beautiful piece of art, her green eyes following every plane and curve of his face in a way that left him feeling exposed; like she was seeing more than just killer cheekbones and a gorgeous mouth.

No one had ever looked at him like that before.

Forgetting himself, Jace looked into her eyes, which were at the moment busy studying the line of his cheekbones, something that had wisely avoided for the past few days. Unguarded, he was unprepared for the effect they had on him.

Her eyes, the color of home, ensnared him, and held him fast. They called to him and he knew he was in danger of becoming the victim of a cliché by falling into them.

He knew with a startlingly calm certainly that he was grossly unprepared for whatever was happening, whatever she was doing to him.

And he wasn't really sure he cared.

"Clary…," hoarse, he said the word like it was the only one he knew.

The train gave an unexpected jerk, shaking him free from the strange feeling that had crept from his chest all the way to his fingers and toes.

Feeling like himself again, he said her name again, stronger this time.

She met his eyes directly then, and jumped. She stared at him wide-eyed, her eyes huge and startled like a startled deer in headlights. Then she twitched, like a guilty child caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

Amused, Jace asked, "Can I help you with something?" He could feel the warmth that exploded from her cheeks, which were now stained with a painful looking blush.

Her eyes flew to the bench opposite them. His eyes, somehow still connected with hers, followed. "Those girls on the other side of the car are staring at you."

There were indeed two giggling girls who were not-so-covertly watching them. Well, him, really.

He hadn't noticed them, though they were pretty, in a preppy tan and blonde, cookie-cutter way. Compared to Clary, they paled in comparison.

Heeding the warning of his still stinging cheek, Jace didn't point out that just a few seconds before, Clary was doing some pretty heavy duty staring herself.

"Of course they are. I am stunningly attractive." He wondered exactly when she had noticed them staring. It seemed that she had been too preoccupied to notice if he had begun strolling the streets of New York naked in a top hat. Which, thanks to that party three months ago, he had actually did.

"Haven't you heard that modesty is an attractive trait?" She sounded annoyed; someone was irritated at herself for staring at him.

"Only from ugly people. The meek may inherit the earth," he told her, "But at the moment, it belongs to the conceited. Like me."

He winked at the girls, seeking to make Clary as uncomfortably as he was at the moment, still reeling from what happened with Clary. They squealed and hid coquettishly behind their straight hair, which is one of the responses that Jace had come to expect.

Clary would have probably shot him the finger if he had winked at her.

Looking weary and maybe slightly green at the antics of the behavior of the girls across the car, she asked, "How come they can see you?"

Shop talk. Glad for the distraction, he explained. "Glamours are a pain to use. Sometimes we don't bother."

Seemingly placated, Clary sat in silence for the rest of the ride. They disembarked from the train at the appropriate stop and began climbing the hill towards her house.

Jace took one of the angel blades from his pocket, Sansanvi, and began twirling it around his fingers, a neat trick that Isabelle was still trying to master. The knives haven't cooperated and Jace thought that maybe the kitchen utensils that Isabelle had come into contact with had put out a warning to similar implements to beware of her

The beat of their steps on the pavement reminded him of a song he sometimes played on the piano. He began humming notes that he had long ago memorized.

He went on uninterrupted for a few seconds, then-, "Do you have to do that? It's annoying."

Oh, an added bonus. Eschewing responding to her, he increased the volume with the express intention of being annoying.

Suddenly, she said, "I'm sorry I smacked you."

Surprised, Jace's humming ceased. He hadn't expected her to apologize. Instead of accepting, he said, "Just be glad you hit me and not Alec. He would have hit you back." Which was very true. The Alec SmackDown. If she kept on hitting him, he just might let Alec at her.

"He seems itching for the chance." So Clary had picked up on Alec's hostility. Good to know she wasn't intellectually deficient. "What is it that Alec called you? Para-something?"

"_Parabatai._ It means a pair of warriors who fight together—who are closer than brothers," he explained. "Alec is more than just my best friend," which was why Jace was wondering why Alec hadn't gotten over his little tiff yet. "My father and his father were _parabatai _when they were young. His father was my godfather—that's why I live with them. They're my adoptive family." Too late, Jace realized he had taken himself to a subject that he didn't really want to discuss.

"But you're last name isn't Lightwood," she said with a little lift on the last syllable, making it sound like a question.

Just in time, they arrived at Clary's building. "No," he answered as they came to a stop in front of the hedges they had hidden behind not four days ago. He, like Clary, examined the building, looking for any abnormalities. There were none.

"It looks the same," she said, a hopeful note in her voice that pulled at something within Jace. He knew that nothing could be the same for Clary. If Du'sien demons were sent to contain the situation at her house, he doubted there would be anything left that tied to Clary or her mother.

"On the outside," was the only warning he could summon. She would see soon enough. Jace dug a Sensor from one of his many pockets.

"So that's a Sensor? What is it for?"

Aside from the obvious sensing? "It picks up frequencies, like a radio does, but these frequencies are demonic in origin."

"Demon shortwave?"

She might have been making fun of him, but Jace didn't care. He was walking towards the brownstone and up the stairs, the Sensor held in his outstretched hand. It beeped and clicked like faint static, which was odd. The Sensor shouldn't have been able to pick up a signal from almost four days ago.

Either way, it wasn't strong enough to make him worry. Maybe he just grabbed a wonky Sensor. "It's picking up trace activity, but that could just be left over from that night. I'm not getting anything strong enough for there to be demons present now."

He heard Clary exhale. "Good," she said, and untied her keys from her shoelaces. Her shoelaces? Jace had never met anyone before who kept their keys tied into their shoelaces. Maybe it helped her keep up with them, though, unlike her absent wallet. Once they were detached, she unfolded herself and stretched her arm out towards the door. Before she could stick the key into the lock, she froze, her eyes locking on deep, furrowed scratches. Claw marks. Her face drained of color.

Jace touched her arm. "I'll go in first," he offered. He unlocked the door and opened it. He stepped over the threshold and glanced around. All was clear, and he glanced back at Clary to motion to her that it was okay to follow; she was still standing stock-still in the doorway.

They passed the hedge-witch's door, her plaque gleaming, and stepped toward the stairs, Clary much more hesitant than Jace, who was arguably not afraid of anything. Something on the banister caught his eye. It was shining. He ran his hand up the rail; his fingers came away sticky will partially-coagulated blood.

"Maybe it's mine, from the other night." said Clary, weakly optimistic.

Jace wasn't a strict pessimist (that was Alec) but he always had to tell the truth, though admittedly, he sometimes cut corners or told half truths.

This was not such a time. "It'd be dry by now if it were," he said. "Come on," he said, eager to see how this would turn out. They would find answers here: he could feel it.

His booted feet made no sound on the steps up to Clary's apartment. Once at her door, he stepped aside so she could unlock the door. He watched her flounder with her keys until, finally, she found the right one and inserted it into the lock. She was breathing like she had just ran two miles in a pair of Isabelle's boots and her hands were shaking.

Braced against the door, he leaned forward, prepared to take over opening the door again and impatient to find get inside. If he knew she was going to take so long, he would have opened the door for her again. He didn't criticize her, though. He could understand what she was going through.

"Don't breathe down my neck," she whispered vehemently at him; so much for him not chastising her. She jerked her hand and unlocked the door at last.

She went to step through the door, but he grabbed her elbow and drew her back. He didn't know what was in there, if anything, but he wasn't going to be carrying her out again.

"I'll go in first." Thankfully, she didn't argue. Instead, she flattened herself against the doorframe and let him pass.

He stepped through the doorway and into an apartment that was much different than it was the last time he had entered it.


End file.
